Darth Rathios
by Charrlizard
Summary: The story of yet another of my characters, with characteristics that should seem familiar as I post more on him. As always, enjoy. Contains mature themes.
1. Chapter 1: Dark Son of Malachor

**_Rathios, Dark Lord of the Sith_**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Dark Son of Malachor**

* * *

Alerevan Mehl'an was born shortly after the Sith Emperor, Vitiate, turned the Jedi Knights Revan and Malak to the Dark Side, and sent them hurtling back towards Republic space to sow chaos and death. While those events shaped the core worlds, the young Red Sith spent his childhood on Ziost, the new home world of the Sith. Always he was taught that Ziost was not their true home, that Korriban was their birthplace, and that someday, they would reclaim it from the hated Jedi.

He was the only child that his father managed to have with his first wife, and because of that, his father became that much more determined to make his son into a Sith to be feared. His early years were filled with kindness, and even happiness. Peace, one could call it, and his father encouraged his son to enjoy it, for he needed to teach his boy the truth of the Sith.

**_Peace…is a lie_**.

* * *

Those first few years were spent learning the history of his race. From the coming of the Dark Jedi on Korriban, to the exile and hiding after the Great Hyperspace War. Though he learned, he never really understood that to be Sith was to live in the constant shadow of betrayal by someone eager to climb over your corpse to power. Those who trained him on Ziost were constantly telling his father that the boy was too innocent to be Sith. Alerevan was, at his core, naïve, even in the face of the backstabbing and betrayal that took place in the Ziost Academy.

He would, according to his instructors, be lured in by kind words from fellow students, or pretty eyes on a female, only to end up used, and tossed aside over and over. He persisted in trying to be good, in trusting others at their word. He accepted that the Sith used the Dark Side, _were_ the Dark Side, that 'evil' by its' very nature was ingrained in their DNA, but he was not of the opinion that being touched by darkness had to mean he was a monster. That was when his father decided to break that innocence, and finish his son's training himself. He required a monster. On his sixteenth birthday, Alerevan's father began his son's training in earnest.

It was on that day that he forced his young son to murder their family pet with his own lightsaber. Naturally, the young and naïve Sith refused several times, only to be struck by his father's Force lightning. Pain unlike anything the boy had felt tore through his very being, and eventually, every instinct he had was screaming at him to kill, or be killed.

* * *

Eventually, the child gave in, and whatever innocence was left in him was effectively crushed as he was forced between gutting his innocent pet, or dying himself. It was then that the young Sith began to grasp what it meant to follow the Dark Side. He was Force Sensitive, of course. As most of the Red Sith are, but until that day, he had never hungered for power. Feeling the unbridled power of his father flowing into him was painful yes, but it awakened something inside him. A hunger for more, and a deep hatred for the man who had, through his own son, killed something Alerevan had loved and genuinely cared for, for no reason at all. On a whim.

He hadn't felt true hatred before that, but on that day, he got his first taste. It shone in his eyes as the image of his loyal pet's smoking corpse lying on the floor of their home burned itself into the young Sith's mind. Seeing this, his father left, feeling satisfied that he would, at last, have an heir who might prove to be worthy.

* * *

After that first trial, he was rebuilt. Psychologically scarred from murdering his own beloved pet, Alerevan's father taught him to use his emotions in harnessing the Force in ways he had never attempted before. He built a new lightsaber, double bladed, and was taught how to charge it and make it powerful. Without lightning of his own however, he was only half as effective as he could be. So his father made up for that weakness by training him in the arts of the Assassin.

Where he lacked power in the Force, he made up for it with his speed. Where he lacked the ability to overcharge his blade with lightning, he taught him to strike once, and effectively. Eventually he learned to use the Force to aid him in this, making him a blur of red and black death, taking out whoever or whatever he was ordered to. As the years passed, killing became meaningless to the young Sith. He was but a sword, and all attempts to get him to actually think were met with a cold, empty stare. The hatred he'd felt for his father slowly burned away in the cold dark of space. He often let his ship's heating systems rest after a mission, and floated sometimes for days in the chilling cold of the void.

He became a shell of his former self, his eyes lacked the spark they had once held, and any who looked upon him shivered at the cold, dead stare they got in return. For years this went on. He would kill, and his father would grow in power. Eventually, the killing became less frequent. A Sith can only rise so high through murder after all, and his son became a liability, an embarrassment that needed to be hidden. Nobody can say what exactly drove that Sith Lord to do what he did next, but he had no idea what would come of his desire to rid himself of a useful tool. He was powerful, he did not need to waste time on only one heir who couldn't even make lightning.

* * *

He would create others, worthy of his name. Alerevan was, at that moment in his father's mind, not even a being, but a tool to be used, and that too was eventually how his son saw himself. Though the years were long and dark, the young Sith had ever so slowly been building a new kind of rage against his father, that only grew every time they interacted.

It was not a passionate rage, nor did it burn with the fury of a sun. It was a cold rage, the type that only some are able to harbor, and even fewer are able to harness. It was the kind of fury that had propelled the Sith Lords of the past to their legendary brutality…and in his ignorance, the young Sith's father completely failed to sense it. Another took notice however, and began to form a plot, as Alerevan's father had become a leader of some import, and was, like most Sith of that era, bogging down the Empire with fruitless nonsense it did not need.

And so, this other, a legendary Sith in his own right, commanded the father to discard the son, not through murder, but through something that would either kill the child, or forge him into a weapon of truly terrifying power for their Empire.

* * *

The legendary tales spoken of on Ziost told of an ancient Sith temple on a planet that was so strong in the Dark Side, it could even turn Jedi from the path of the Light, no matter their conviction. Supposedly, the young Sith's family had played a part in making that very temple, though where it was, and the true nature of it, was something only a few knew or cared to remember. Alerevan's father, at the apparent suggestion of another, decided that such a place would be perfect for his useless son to fade away and die quietly.

The temple on that planet housed many wayward spirits of Sith who came long before. He would add another one to their ranks. Not once however, did it ever occur to the Sith Lord that his son might survive his exile. Not once did he even contemplate what would come _back_ from such a place. It was with this ignorance that he headed towards the farthest reaches of Imperial space, very easily risking discovery by the Republic should they be caught. There were other eyes on the pair however, and so the secret journey remained that way as both father and son headed for Malachor V.

* * *

Alerevan had thus far had a pretty easy life, for a Sith. His family was nobility, at the top of the racial bloodlines of the Empire, strong in the Force, and best of all: rich. He enjoyed the finest robes, the best lightsaber crystals, a bed as soft as a Nerf's belly, and three-square meals a day. Thus, when his father landed on Malachor V, or rather, what remained of it, he was in no way prepared for the true harshness of life that only total poverty can bring. He was nobility, a Red Sith, poverty was for humans and slaves.

"I will return in five years." His father had said, before tossing him out of the ship with a wave of his hand. The young Sith simply stared in awe as his only family in the galaxy flew away, leaving him stranded on a handful of barren asteroids that, somehow, still maintained an atmosphere with breathable air.

The 'planet' itself felt _wrong_ to his finer senses, but he knew that his father valued his legacy too much to simply leave him to die in the middle of nowhere with no chance of survival, so he began to explore. In his blind, almost deafened state he did not realize that he could and would be replaced. He did not think like a Sith yet. His dead, emotionless eyes surveyed everything Malachor had to offer...which was not much.

* * *

Several hours later, the young Sith had tired of exploring, as all he had found were rocks, lightning, and the ever-growing feeling of unease that followed him everywhere in this hellish place. Still he traveled on, becoming more and more aware of the fact that his body was dragging him towards something.

Something in his blood was reacting to the 'planet', and as he crested the next ridge, he saw it, and began to understand. His father had always listed the 'Temple of Malachor' as one of the family's great accomplishments, but the young Sith had never bothered to learn what Malachor was. Now at least, he had a chance to find out, as his bright red eyes fell upon what remained of the Trayus Academy.

He didn't know that name however, as to him it was just an old Sith temple that his family had apparently helped construct at some point in the past, long before it had been abandoned and renamed. Still, it was the closest thing to civilization he had seen thus far, and he began heading for it.

* * *

Then, the closer he got, the more he heard the softer, fleeting voices that began to whisper to him. He welcomed them at first, for he knew that such a temple must house many Sith Lords of the past, as most of their temples tended to do. They welcomed him with praise, and kind remarks towards his lineage, they encouraged him onward, into the temple. Down he went, following them, confident in his naiveté that they would show him the power they whispered of.

Eventually, he entered a large chamber, filled with the Dark Side. Something powerful had once been here, something darker than he had ever felt, but now all that remained was the barest trace of its essence, which was still capable of suffusing the Force itself with the darkness that wielders referred to as the Dark Side. Anger, hate, jealousy, passion, these emotions swirled here in this place, and the young Sith embraced them…for he had not felt that kind of emotion since he was sixteen.

The chamber's platform was suspended over a giant gap in the asteroid that showed only open space below it. The bottom of it had, apparently, been blown out at some point. It was incredible that this room had survived at all, let alone the temple. There was no way it was structurally sound…and yet it continued to stand. Just as he decided he had had enough of examining an interesting but ultimately empty chamber, he felt the Force surge, and the whispers returned, louder, insistent. They spoke of betrayal, of someone called 'Revan', of Mandalorian customs, of the Force, of so many things that he soon lost track of what they were saying. More and more joined in, swelling in their shouting now, as they demanded to be heard by the only living being that was naïve enough to come to this cursed place willingly.

* * *

The very air itself began to swirl with physical clouds of darkness, but the young Sith didn't notice. He clawed at his head, shouting as loud as he could. It echoed through the empty temple, but was lost to the many other thousands of shouting incoherent voices reverberating in his skull. The spirits of the Sith who had died in this place took advantage of the other's shouting and this weak and malleable vessel's state of pain to try and dominate him for their own.

Alerevan fought back as hard as he could, curling on the ground now as darkness and bits of dark red and black lightning sparked over his form. For hours he sat there, curled into a ball, unable to do anything else for fear of being taking over by the dead. He knew if they got a hold on his mind, he would never be able to break it alone. He waited for hours and hours until finally, they seemed to give up.

Time passed, that much he knew, but Alerevan, or what was left of him, no longer knew how much had passed. Certainly not five years. Not yet. It was far too soon for that. The voices swelled with his every thought, but as time flowed on, their words had less of an effect. He rose.

* * *

The power of the Force ghosts surged into his form, suffusing it with the Dark Side, and yet he withstood it. He shouted again then, as the ghosts fought for control of his body, in both his mind and with his mouth, daring them to give him more. He knew he could handle it, or so he thought. He had to, or he would die.

The voices had revealed through their incessant whispers that there was no food on in this place, no fertile ground, no life. Only the Dark Side of the Force. So, he had challenged them, daring them to face him for control of his body, and a chance, though slim, for escape back into civilization and out of the Galaxy's equivalent of Hell. The cold rage that had been building for well over four decades now surged, and for the first time since his sixteenth year, the young Sith smirked.

Like most Red Sith, he had been taught his people's history, of how they had lived on Korriban before the Jedi came. His ancestors had survived on the Dark Side before, and he knew he could do it now, even though his species had been tainted by the humans. The Force, he was discovering, did not discriminate by species, only by individual. Even that though, he suspected was not the case. Though he had no true idea of _how_ to feed off of the Dark Side, he knew he had to figure it out, and so the young Sith focused.

* * *

He had learned Force rituals of course, but this was not a ritual. This was not even Sith Alchemy. This was the desire to survive on a world with no food of any kind, and no water. It was in this dire struggle that his primal desire to survive took over, and for the first time in centuries, a Red Sith discovered a practice that had been long thought lost, or impossible to all but the most powerful of lords, or the Emperor himself.

How to _consume _the power of a Force apparition, and make it his own. He used his cold, hardened rage against each spirit that came forth to possess him. The strong ones were first, but they had been dead for uncounted years. Whatever vitality they had in death was nowhere near able to match the cold fury that this young Sith brought against them. He consumed them, relying on his instincts to guide him in a practice that was as old as his race itself, encoded into his very genes. He merged with these ghosts of the past, forcing them to submit and be absorbed.

Their rage became his rage. Their pain, his pain. Their hopes, dreams, ideas, thoughts, their very essence merged with his as he focused upon them and drew from them as he drew from the Force. They surged into him, all but screaming in joy as they felt his comprehension. His body crackled once more with dark black and red lightning, and his eyes burned with dark fire.

* * *

Containing so many eager individuals was hard, but suddenly, as he felt his essence merge with the Sith of old, it became easier. His power swelled in ways he had never felt before, and he laughed. A dark, maniacal laugh that echoed throughout the empty broken wasteland that was Malachor, as the young, naïve Sith who had only ever been a tool absorbed the ancient wisdom of those who had died here, those who had wielded the Force in ways he hadn't even begun to grasp, or understand. Their knowledge became his knowledge…and with that knowledge, came power.

It was then that the young Sith began to understand, with help from those he had fed on of course. They were the Force itself, and only now could he feel the presence of not just the ghosts of the ancient temple, but the hundreds of thousands who had died here in the past, betrayed and angry, and now only existing as slight echoes of what they had been. The Sith spirits assaulting him were stronger only because this was a nexus of darkness, but in time he knew, he would find a way to consume them _all _and add their knowledge to his own.

He learned from the ghosts of the hated Jedi, that they had taught that the Force was alive, and that no emotion should be felt for those who left this life and joined it, but only by drawing in and essentially consuming these dead Jedi and Sith did the young Pureblood finally understand exactly what the Jedi had meant. The Force bound every living thing together. Those who died, became a part of it, and every sentient being, sensitive or not, could connect with this Force in some manner if they truly tried to. If they understood this basic truth, and listened, patiently, for the voice of the beings who generated the energy field.

* * *

The living were as much a part of the Force as the dead, and as the young Sith realized this, so too did the ghosts he was battling and consuming. Finally accepting their immortality by letting go of their past selves and joining the Force, they let themselves be fed upon one by one, and slowly, the growing hunger the young Sith had felt swelling within him for years grew larger with the addition of each ghost.

To call them that though, was a stretch. They were, at best, phantoms of weaker, inferior Sith, but they gave him the power he had sought after for years all the same. Even though he only consumed the barest of scraps from them, so similar had they been in life that he began to pull the scraps of information together. He knew what daily life in this temple had been like. He knew why the Jedi that had died here had come in the first place. And most importantly, he began to understand not only how to tap the strength of the Dark Side, but the Light as well, for though they claimed emotion played no part in it, that was not the truth. He smirked then, in the darkness of the abandoned temple on the remains of a dead planet. Five years of doing this would make him powerful, perhaps powerful enough to face the Emperor. Like all Sith before him, he now imagined leading an entire Empire, and began to crave that power. With the nexus of Dark Side energy surrounding him, he genuinely began to believe he could make it a reality.

* * *

Days passed, and the young Sith spent them absorbing and feeding upon more and more of the Dark Side. He noticed however, that not all of the vestiges of those who had died in this forsaken place had been like him. They had not all embraced the Dark Side, even in death, and some still clung to the Light. Even those however, had not been, by their own scattered recollection, recognized as true Jedi, having chosen to fight instead of preach peace and sit back as the Mandalorians conquered the core worlds.

Once more, his view of the Force expanded: Just as there were different shades of living people, be they light, gray, or dark, there were such variations within the Force, for the Force is the end destination of every living thing. True immortality, he realized, was a fantasy of an animalistic mind that refused to even conceptualize its own end. This revelation deeply upset the young Sith, despite his growing power. Everything that lived had an end, and he knew that even if he consumed billions of ghosts, or people, even if he fed on the Force for centuries at a time, it would still never stop the inevitable truth that the Jedi within him forced him to understand: that everything dies, and Balance always returns. Eventually.

For a Sith, the idea of accepting one's own mortality was nigh unheard of. Their power corrupted their minds far too often, and led many to believe that they could not be brought down. His own Emperor was said to believe the same thing, for his father was privy to many secrets of the Sith Empire, and Vitiate's hunger for living souls was not as well hidden as he thought. Not to those like him, anyways. Not to those who remembered how he had become so powerful in the first place. He vowed then, to accept the fact that he was, eventually, going to die. That did not however, mean that he wouldn't do all he could to live as long as possible. He would build a power base to rival Vitiate's empire, and then he would build a successor. Only when looking back would he recognize this new naiveté for what it was.

* * *

It was not long after he made that vow that he realized he had brought down many rival Sith who had believed that their power would sustain them forever. But it had not. He had been his father's assassin for years, and had taken down many power bases, and the Sith who led them. They had been strong, true, sometimes stronger than him, but despite their influence they had been brought down in single combat. That is when he began to practice his manipulation of both lightsaber and Force powers for combat within the temple.

Those strong with the Force had been recorded as living for centuries longer than they should have naturally, and he knew if he wanted to do the same, he had to become very good at deflecting mortal wounds. He had the time to learn, and with a bit of exploring, he found he had the tools to practice with as well. The temple had been well equipped for such things.

With some experimentation, he found he was able to animate the training dummies in what must have passed as a 'workout room' through the Force to make them move, jump, and attack. He practiced then, becoming adept at small manipulations. He learned every way they could move, and eventually, managed to infuse them with part of his power, temporarily giving them something that resembled sentience. They were challenging, and as his strength and skill grew, so did theirs. They were no real substitute for a genuine, living being however. No matter how hard he tried to detach himself, he was, at the end of the day, the one controlling them still. It took what must have been many weeks, but eventually, he finally mastered the subtle art of infusing an object with the Force. These were not Khyber crystals however, and so his infusions never lasted long. Every so often, a ghostly vestige would possess one at a bad moment during his training, to try to end him, but even that was easy enough for him to deflect, and then devour.

* * *

Time passed, and for seemingly endless, timeless galactic standard day after galactic standard day, the young Sith practiced. Until, one day, he accidentally injured himself with his lightsaber. As he examined the wound in his arm, a thought came to him. The Force surrounded everything. Living things with vitality and life, made it stronger, living cells made it able function, and Midichlorians lived amongst those cells, according to their scientific knowledge of the Force.

What then would happen if he manipulated the Force producing beings to multiply his cells, and seal up and repair his wounds through rapid replication and regeneration? As he experimented, he slowly began to understand how the great Sorcerers of the Empire healed the wounds of those they tended to with only the Force, and the occasional help from medicine and machine. Armed with this new knowledge, and an eagerness to master it, the young Sith mutilated himself daily, and then healed his wounds. He did this in addition to his combat training, and eventually, he no longer even felt the pain of the lightsaber burn.

He hardened his mind to pain, inflicted wounds that would have killed lesser Sith, and that he himself had inflicted on lesser Sith to kill them. He invented several new forms and strikes, making them deadly but simple, hard to block, and most importantly, too damaging for them to be healed in time to prolong survival. How effective they would be remained to be seen of course, as he only had training dummies to practice on, and there was only so far he could really go in mutilating himself before being genuinely and mortally wounded.

* * *

Time continued to flow, but by now Alerevan could scarcely remember what it felt like. So long had he been in this quiet, dark place he had forgotten how to keep track of it. What little technology that remained working in the temple had since been re-activated by him for training purposes. The machines began to run out of power however, but he knew a good lightning burst would charge most of them. It worked on his lightsaber, which he occasionally brought to the peak nearest the temple to absorb the plasma energy rich in the atmosphere that constantly sparked over the ruins of Malachor.

That was when he remembered that he had not yet mastered lightning. In his zeal to heal and learn mastery of the saber, he had forgotten the deadliest tool of the Sith, one that most people could not shield against, unless they too had a lightsaber, or mastery of the Force. He decided then, that he had more than enough of failure in this aspect of the Sith Arts. He would dominate lightning as he dominated the souls within the Force. It would not be the same lightning as every other Sith used however. No, he would find a way to make his stronger. He had the time to do it. He wasn't going anywhere, and with the knowledge of past Sith who had used it and Jedi who had deflected it, he knew he could make his own as deadly as his blade was.

The only problem was that he had long since forgotten how his father had taught him to harness the power. Just thinking of his father, who had abandoned him here so long ago, caused a deep rage to ignite within the young Sith. He fed that rage from the core of his expanded consciousness, letting it build, and as he did, he felt his fingers tingle. Power. Rage. Hatred. The lust for conquest. That was what fueled a Sith's lightning. It was the ultimate expression of dark emotions, made physical by way of the Force.

* * *

He focused, and then realized he needed a target. But his dummies were too weak for Force attacks, as he had discovered the hard way, and he didn't want to damage the only structure protecting him from Malachor's harsh elements. Thinking of the elements, he headed outside, and noticed the old statues of faceless Sith lords, long dead, made of stone. They would do nicely. He raised his hands, and focused his rage, building it, feeding it with dark thoughts that did not originate from just his experiences, but the faded memories of those he consumed to survive as well. He felt their rage from their own memories of using and feeling Force lightning, and it had been full of blind anger, hate, and aggression. He stopped then, looking at his hands.

"No…" he murmured to himself in a hoarse whisper, for he rarely spoke anymore. He would not use the same easily manipulated attacks that he had felt and blocked numerous times, both as himself and in the numerous memories that haunted his waking four-hour-long rest periods. He would power his lightning with the cold fury that only those who understand true hate could fathom.

He raised his hands towards the closest stone statue, and once more, dark red and black lightning sparked over him, and coalesced in his hands. They felt alive, and burned with power. He directed it then, out of his fingertips, and with an explosive crack, struck the statue down with one blast. A smirk formed on his sunken face then.

* * *

There is something primal and satisfying about utterly demolishing something with your own hands. He continued to practice, the sick, manic feeling of destruction flowing through him as he blasted statue after statue, and even their smaller pieces to nothing but tan colored dust and smoke. He had the basics down, he knew, and now all he had to do was master control. Accuracy would be vital in a duel, so he began to refine his bolts together, and before long, his lightning seemed to strike as one bolt, but was in reality several, shot together from each fingertip. With five per shot, he knew that even a lightsaber would have trouble blocking all of them. He must have practiced shooting his lightning for days, weeks, months, even. But as usual, time had no meaning. There were plenty of dead Mandalorians out here to keep him fed, and he vowed not to return until he was sure he could zap the temple's batteries, and not fry them to a crisp.

He measured time instead by his prowess, and when he could blast apart rock and stone with accuracy at a moment's notice, namely by practicing on the rapidly orbiting and numerous asteroids in what passed for Malachor's atmosphere, he finally stopped, and looked for ways to make it even stronger. It was said that the strongest Sith's lightning was fearsome to feel, and that when one received such a strike from a Darth, death was almost always the result, even if it was not intentional. He grinned for a moment, as he realized he didn't remember where he had heard that, or if it had even been him who had.

* * *

Those he had absorbed were assimilating nicely. He had no way to know how painful his lightning was however, as nothing lived on Malachor anymore, as far as he knew. He returned then to the temple, and powered it with enough energy to run for a century. Finally, his training could advance beyond the basics, for the temple had many things that needed electricity to run, and what was not connected to the generators could be powered himself.

His lightsaber never ran out of power now, as each time he drew it he forced himself to make a habit of charging it in his palm. The battery however, did not like being charged in this manner. Technology, he soon realized, was finicky. Luckily, with the lights on, he had managed to find several large tech manuals on all sorts of machines. He made time to read them as well, for rarely did he sleep anymore, and eventually he found a battery schematic that had been specifically designed to be charged by Sith lightning.

Making it was tricky, however, but the young Sith persevered, scouring the temple for random mechanical parts, and reading up on other appliances that he couldn't even use to scavenge parts from them. These primarily consisted of the machines that had been used in prepping food. Although they were older, he realized that the Empire's own tech was only a few generations ahead. It gave him a rough estimate of when the temple had been furnished. Eventually, his saber's battery was completed, and recharged with little problems. He made a note to refine his modified design if he ever got back to civilization.

* * *

Eventually, growing bored of the temple and its machines, he began to shoot his focused blasts of electrical power into the already charged atmosphere. To his surprise however, the much stronger lightning from the remains of the planet followed his own bolts of plasma down to his body, and filled him with so much energy he thought he would explode right there. He felt himself dying, burning from the sheer amount of electricity running through him that only a planetoid could naturally produce, but then he focused on the Force, drawing on it, feeding off of it, healing his burning organ's very cells until he knew his body would survive if he stopped, and the enrgy finally faded.

Thus, a routine began to develop for the lone Sith. A routine he followed for far longer than five years, by the count of the temple's newly powered, but inaccurate chronometer. It only measured how many days had passed since turning it on, not the actual year. Thinking it useless, he eventually stopped bothering to power it, and scavenged parts from it for his other projects. He mastered fighting the practice 'droids', and constantly made up new ways to counter them. He read every Holobook he could, and the history of the Sith Empire became much clearer.

The classrooms and teaching droids on Ziost had left out much. He learned how the petty squabbles of his race had in fact led to their downfall. He learned a thousand things from those holobooks, committing them to memory. There were only so many, and he re-read them at least a hundred times. Even the manuals for the machinery were re-read several times, out of sheer boredom. He also made use of the Holocrons in the deepest parts of the temple, and learned from the ancient Sith within.

* * *

Opening the Holocrons was always a challenge, like a puzzle, but eventually he figured it out. If he ever made one, he decided, he would make it so complex that getting into it would be nigh impossible. He would make sure only someone as clever as he was could access the secrets he himself had now learned. That seemed to be, after all, the point of making one. But that was all far, far in the future.

At the end of his sometimes days long sessions of training, mind and body exhausted, he would go out before the temple, and let the unbridled power of Malachor run through him. Dangerous though it was, he could control where the lightning's ferocity struck him. As long as he kept it away from the vital organs, he found he would need less healing afterwards, and by receiving such power multiple times, he became used to commanding such as well.

Thus, when he drew heavily from the Force, he drew more than he knew his body ever could have before. Once, he kept drawing. The ferocity of Malachor's atmosphere flowed into his palm, and then, he guided it outward again. To call it a Force Storm is to insult its size. Sorcerers in the Empire could make similar storms, but this was on a much larger scale. From the mountain he stood on, his massive bolts of barely controlled lightning struck the peaks around him with a ferocity that surprised him. He repeated this tactic once a day, until the peaks around his were complete dust.

* * *

Little did he know however, that these massive storms on a near planetary scale were sending out ripples through the Force in all directions. The Emperor in his hidden palace felt them, and watched on, intrigued that the young Sith he had assumed dead had in fact survived, and seemed to be turning into the weapon the Emperor had wanted him to be. The Jedi in the far reaches of the Republic felt them as well, and when they determined where they were coming from, they did their best not to feel fear.

Malachor was their equivalent of Hell, and a bitter memory to boot. Now it was, to their blinded eyes, active. They needed to stop it. All of this was unknown to the young Sith however. All he cared about was expanding his power. Eventually he stopped calling the storms and moved on to other techniques in manipulating Force lightning. Shields, sparks, jolts, blasts so powerful they could reduce whatever they struck to atoms, and even a Sage technique that one performed with two hands, though his versions was more like a ball of sparky death.

He'd tried condensing the lightning into a sphere, but as it usually exploded in his face, he eventually gave up, and settled for various sized death balls of electricity, similar to his shield. He manipulated his new abilities in thousands of ways. It was, he discovered, his favorite power. It sparked his desire for conquest like nothing else, and the thrill of expending even a little of it made him smirk.

* * *

Another lesson he learned from the temple, was how to enhance his ability to drain a lifeform's Force essence. The Holocrons made reference to creatures that lived off the plasma in Malachor's atmosphere, and the young Sith made a note to hunt them, if any had survived whatever calamity had torn the planet apart a second time.

He had only rarely ventured onto the other asteroid chunks by way of Force jumping a few times, and had not sensed any life. Nor could he practice the technique completely, but he did use it to enhance his ability to drain the remnant of the disquieted souls in the space around Malachor. They were easy enough to reach out to and hunt from the ruined chamber he had discovered his first day there. They screamed out through the Netherworld of the Force as he found them, but nothing ever came to their aid.

He continued this regimen of lightsaber techniques, lightning manipulation, and Force consumption for what seemed like an age. He had fixed and powered the clock on and let it die several times, eventually reducing it to a ruined wreck after it counted out fifty years. He had no way of knowing whether or not it was an accurate clock, but as he continued to exist in this state of not eating or drinking, he knew it could not last forever. Eventually he would run out of dead Jedi and Mandalorians to consume, and surviving on just the energy of the Force Nexus alone would be a full-time meditation effort. If he ever reached that point, he would be too weak to escape unless whoever eventually came to this wasteland forcibly took him with them.

* * *

Then, finally, it ended.

Alerevan was reading a history of the tactics used by Tulak Hord when he single-handedly broke sieges made by the ancient Jedi, for the hundredth time, tactics that were similar to his Force consumption no less, when he heard the sound of a ship. He had long since learned to tune out the hum of the temple's machines and the roar of the lightning outside, so when something new entered his ears, he noticed it.

Making his way to the front of the temple, he became aware for the first time since his arrival that he hadn't bathed or changed clothes. Such things were never important during his time training in the forgotten temple. Thus, as it was, he appeared as a red-skinned man with long unkempt black hair, and tattered black robes covered in burn marks and slashes, along with the occasional blaster hole. His nails were long and sharp, to keep from breaking during training, but his shoes had long since worn away to nothing.

Walking barefoot on the asteroid's surface was no problem for him anymore however. His face was a thin mask of skin over bones, his facial tendrils had lengthened far past the beginnings of youth, and his ribs were visible. The muscles on the rest of him were very developed however, but even the Force could not feed them properly, something he had begun to notice.

* * *

Without food, real food with real nutrients, he would eventually die. As ragged and evil as he looked physically, nothing matched his eyes. They were dull, dark red, and emotionless. Unreadable, even to those skilled in such things, they gave nothing away, and seemed to suck in all they looked at with their sheer emptiness. Until now, however, he had not seen or felt another living thing in his many, many years on Malachor.

As he looked up at the ship, he raised one tentacle eyebrow from under his mane of black hair as he felt something in the Force that he needed a moment to recognize. The Light Side. It had been ages since he had devoured something that had once been so blithely good, and wholesome. But this presence was different from what he usually consumed. It burned with the fire of life and youthful vitality. This was not a mere ghost, a vestige of a being that had once existed. These midichlorians pulsed with life.

He could almost feel it, even from several hundred feet below. He drooled as he sensed it, and his hunger became very real for the first time in…ever, surging as he sensed a veritable feast of power. He was like a starved predator, glaring up at a large, juicy steak still warm from a kill. As the ship came closer, a model he had never seen and knew was in no way Imperial, he verified what he sensed. It had to be, and he almost shouted with joy. Jedi.

* * *

He'd always wanted to meet one, to try to break one, to see in person what had broken the old Empire and made even the most composed of his old Sith Lord masters seethe with rage at the mere mention of them. The ship hovered for a moment, and suddenly, Alerevan realized his malice had seeped out. His desire for blood was obvious, but he quickly hid it using one of the many techniques his Holobooks and ancient Holocrons had outlined and taught him.

Still, the ship hovered, and as it began to ascend, as if in fear, the young Sith threw deception to the wind. He was tired of being on Malachor. He was tired of living off the Force alone, of smelling terrible, of living like a hermit. This was his chance. The Sith Lords of old had always enjoyed a measure of comfort with their power, as a sign of status, and now he craved it as well, for he knew he must have become powerful in his uncounted years away from the Empire.

Raising a clawed hand towards the ship, he held it in place, and dragged it down. The engines squealed, and he frowned. Too much wasted fuel, and he'd never get home. He cut them off by blocking the fuel lines to the engines, not by having them back up, but by simply freezing the entire system in place, all at once, and seconds later, they went silent.

* * *

He held every other part of the ship as well, keeping it from moving on its own, holding it in place, and marveling at his mastery of control. Vanity, he discovered, felt good. He felt another Force user attempt to remove his blockage, and gained a sadistic smirk. It was a pathetic attempt. Futile, hopeless. He could almost smell the fear. It was intoxicating. Eventually, the ship was forced to land, pulled down to the lifeless rock by a being of pure evil. The ship itself was utterly dead, and the Sith gestured at the doors as it touched down. He had his escape. His way back to power.

The craving was almost undeniable, and the vestiges of the souls he had initially devoured so long ago all but screamed at him to take his chance to escape this hell. And he did. From out of the doors came a flash of blue and green, one that was easily met by red seconds later. The Jedi landed on the ramp to their strange ship, as Alerevan blocked each of the blazing Lightsabers with one hand holding his own, double-bladed saber. The other flexed with electricity, but he held off. He wanted to enjoy this.

He took a moment to examine his prey, and his dark smirk widened. The younger of the pair, and clearly the Padawan, recoiled. The fear was strong in her. The master, though…he was pensive. Like an undisturbed lake surrounded by the tumultuous chaos that was Malachor, and the Sith who had grown to learn to wield its corrupting power. He licked his cracked lips, and bared his fangs at the Jedi in a grin. It earned him a look of disgust as they struggled to break his lock. He was going to savor every minute of shattering that pensive lake of Light and good. He'd earned it. The Jedi gasped as he stared at the creature before him. "Sith…you will die here…make peace with your gods."

* * *

A hiss escaped from the drooling mouth of the pureblooded Sith, "Not…to…day…" the first words he had spoken in…who knew how long. They were soft, hard to hear, which only made them that much more important to be listened to. With his free hand, Alerevan gestured at the master, and yanked him off the ramp, and onto the cold black surface of the asteroid. For a Light user, this was as good as a death sentence, and the young Sith felt his sad resignation as he knew the Jedi understood that too. Already the Dark Side was tainting him.

All three knew that the fight was already over. Gesturing towards the Padawan, Alerevan held her in the air through a Force choke, or rather, a variation of it. She dangled by her neck, but she did not choke, and the Sith was free to fight as he left her there to watch helplessly as her master fell to the darkness, and his inevitable death. She was another toy, the first part of his power base. She would serve him well.

Appearance wise, the master was nothing special. Brown hair and eyes to match his cloak, tan undershirt and pants, and a sickeningly bland lightsaber hilt with an equally boring green crystal. He was every bit the stereotypical Jedi that the histories had painted, but imagining a whole order, thousands and thousands of beings like him, was hard. Surely no order could truly be that bland. His apprentice was little better, she was a Twi'lek at least, and attractive enough, for an alien. Her skin was a reddish pink color, marking her as a Lethan, and a rare find. There were few Twi'leks in the Empire, which only made them even more desirable and exotic.

* * *

The Jedi lunged as he futilely resisted the temptation to draw upon Malachor's darkness, and in him Alerevan sensed the same cockiness he had felt in his father when they had last dueled. With a cold, but tempered rage, the Sith raised a hand to the sky, and lightning coursed down into his palm. He let the energy surge through him as he had done countless times before, but this time he channeled it into a strike at a specific target. It was strange at first, as he had always let it go where it wanted in the past, but it obeyed his command just as his own lightning did. The Jedi was struck full force by a bolt of dark red and black lightning.

To his credit, the Jedi caught the bolt of power, and deflected most of it, but in doing so left himself open. He was tiring, and his thoughts were an ever-expanding swirl of emotion. The Sith could no longer hold back. His clawed hand surged forward, and embedded itself in the lifeblood of the human. The Sith grinned, and his eyes flared with darkness as he pulled at the very essence of the master. He inhaled, and his eyes shone as they absorbed the vitality of true life for the first time, rather than some long-dead ghost.

* * *

His Padawan let out a cry of horror as she saw her master literally drained of anything resembling life. When the Sith was done, all that remained of the Jedi Knight was bones, and even those turned to ash not long after. Turning now to the girl, Alerevan eyed her appealing figure. From what he gained of the Jedi's memory, he had not indulged in having such a lovely apprentice. As usual, the universe gave, and the Jedi ignored. This was yet another urge he had not satisfied in his exile, and now, the needs of his body began to surface once more. But he had to control them. Too much indulgence would lead to his demise.

As if reading his thoughts, the Padawan squirmed in the invisible, iron choke hold, snarling, "Don't you da-" She never finished her sentence, as the hold vanished, and sent her collapsing onto the surface of the broken world in a heap of pink skin and bland clothes.

Alerevan stood over her, keeping the Dark Side at bay for but a moment before it consumed and turned her. He let it swell around him, and as it built up, it physically manifested as a writhing cloud of darkness. This surprised the young Sith, as it seemed the planet itself was as eager to defile her as he was, and the young Jedi shivered, no doubt sensing this. "Go ahead…do it."

She closed her eyes, expecting death…and that, was truly funny to the young Sith. He cackled loudly as he let the planet's nature resume its' natural course of corruption. She struggled to stand, and was managing to fight it off. She had natural strength, he realized, but it was unrefined, and buried under what he could only sense was belief of some kind. In the Republic. In peace. He realized that his refinement of control extended to the mental state of his enemies as well. He was so very tempted then to toy with her perception of reality, but breaking her would not do. He needed a tool, not a mindless, albeit generously proportioned, toy.

* * *

The young Sith spat, and raised a clawed hand. The Dark Side surged as he called it into him, and he poured it into her mind, every crevice of it. As he had done with her ship, he entered the structure of her mental consciousness, and examined each of her petty beliefs. One by one, he revealed to her, usually by images conjured from his vastly increased memory, the terrible truth or reality that every ghost had come to accept.

Peace was a lie, there would always passion. Through passionate emotions, a Force user became strong. With that strength, they could acquire real power, minions to fear and obey them. With that power, they could dominate their rivals, and achieve victory undisputed. Through that victory, they would be free to do as they wished with their power, ever expanding, ever growing, ever conquering in an endless cycle of hunger and expansion.

Through the Dark Side, one could achieve true freedom, but not if they clung to a notion as silly as lasting peace. Sentients would always fight, and creatures like him would always take advantage of their simple minds. This he impressed upon the deepest part of her mind, and eventually, he felt her acceptance, her understanding of the way things were had shifted, and now where once there was laughable attempts to control her emotions, she let them free, and hungered for power. A true Sith in the making if ever there was one. He sighed then, sad that he would not have the chance to break her worldview piece by piece and Then make her his servant, but he needed to escape, and she would help him. Satisfied, he withdrew.

When her eyes were finally yellow-orange, and her emotions an untempered whirlwind of sadness, rage, and hatred for him, he nodded. "You shall be my first apprentice…the first of many. Your name."

"S-sinya" was the only response she gave, but it was enough.

* * *

He pointed at the temple, and said "Go." And she went.

He was glad his power had been made obvious, but impressing a young Jedi Padawan was easy. The true test would be matching his power against a Sith. With the Jedi dealt with, the young Sith examined his new ship, and took the opportunity to clean up. He found spare brown robes, boots, cut his hair with help from his saber, and even had a hot shower in the one cubicle the ship had. Once he was done, he scowled, as he looked far too much like a Jedi for his taste, but it would have to do. There was nothing that could make dye out on this rock.

At least they were a dark brown. He eyed the food stores hungrily, and opened a pack, hydrating it, and devouring it. As he reached for another, he paused. He would need this food in the long run, and since he had just devoured a truly potent life, as well as real food, he held back. He knew the Jedi rations were as nutritional as a soldiers, which meant extremely they were the best thing for him at this stage. He could subsist…for now. The first chance he got however, he planned to eat and eat until the burning hunger he had become used to, and had all but been driven mad by in the long, long years on this rock, finally was sated.

* * *

As he stepped back into the temple, getting used to wearing boots for the first time in who knew how many years, he noticed that he was surrounded by darkness. Unnatural darkness. His new apprentice sought to challenge him already, and he relished it. Droids could only be so hard to fight, after all, and her master had proven to be a pathetic match. Twin lightsabers, blue and green, came at him from the darkness, and he noticed she had retrieved her master's as well. Clever.

He blocked her strikes easily enough, using only one side of his blade, but the shadows hid her well. Still, she was but a half-baked Jedi. Her presence was obvious in the Force, and he homed in on it as soon as she felt a surge of hope and pride in her abilities, as she had so far kept his own saber occupied. The Sith clenched his free hand, and the darkness dissipated.

He held his new apprentice in a choke grip with ease, glaring at her. "You cannot over power me." He snarled. He then focused his full pent up rage on her mind. "You will never beat me. You will serve me. And if you disobey, I will hunt down every single person you have ever loved, and give them the same painful end I'll give to you. But only after you watch. I know where your parents live Sinya. I can get to Ryloth easily. I could devour your entire _planet_ if I was so inclined…I am…genuinely…_ravenous_."

He pushed into her mind, filling it with the ever-present darkness of the cold, unfeeling rage that now lived within him constantly. He pushed her mind to near its breaking point before he relented, making sure his message was clear. Defiance would lead to the slaughter of her kin. Though she'd left them as a baby, ignoring her 'cultural heritage' so very prominently displayed on Coruscant was impossible. Learning about her people had been just as impossible to ignore, but the Jedi had ultimately encouraged a connection to heritage. After all, many masters were influenced by their home, despite having not really grown up there.

* * *

She glared at him after he dropped her to the floor, panting, but behind her orange eyes he could sense…something new. Something he recognized, but could not put a name to. He felt it as well, especially when he met her gaze. Lust, perhaps? It was easy enough to ignore, but as always, hers would serve him well, and perhaps make her beholden to him in ways he had never considered. Pleasure, after all, was just as effective as fear. When used correctly.

Another lesson of the past, no doubt from one of the Sith. "We have much training to do, apprentice…" He hissed at her, his voiced soft like a snake slithering on the ground, and dry from lack of use and water. He eyed her expectantly, and she powered her sabers down.

"Yes…Master." His feral grin returned. He felt her lust rising again as she spoke the words. Apparently the sheer wrongness of it appealed to her newly awakened emotions and shifted perspective. He had forced her to resign to her fate now. Her master was gone, and one way or another, she would serve him. Might as well enjoy it, and keep him happy at the same time.

The connection between her new emotions and her new master was one he was aware he had to reinforce. His two clawed pointer fingers on his right hand made a subtle 'come hither' motion that extended into the Force. He enjoyed watching her look of confusion, understanding, and then pleasure as she felt the effects. He stopped then, staring her down. "Training…and then perhaps I shall reward you again. Come." He knew he had her now. She'd had an unfulfilled taste of unfamiliar pleasure, and as her newfound unbound emotions surged, he knew she would want more, and he would give it. But not yet. The chase was part of the fun, after all.


	2. Chapter 2: Nar Shaddaa

**Chapter 2: Nar Shaddaa**

* * *

And so, Alerevan began the molding of his first apprentice. First, he had taken measure of the food on the ship. Enough for six months' worth of travel. It was however, bland and tasteless. Much like the Jedi. Then, he had begun to train her as he had trained himself. They trained primarily nude however, at first because he was curious if she'd actually listen, but he also wished to spare the only set of clothes the Jedi appeared to have left the treatment his own robes had received. It also helped make both of them aware of weak areas they did not usually think of when dueling.

Without the protection of clothes, one becomes far more aware of their body, and it was this kind of increased sensation that they fought under. Eventually, he powered up the lightsaber forge in the temple after Sinya's Jedi battery packs faded. They lasted long, true, but were not easily charged like those in his own saber. She desperately wanted her own red blade, so Alerevan decided to make her a saberstaff instead, from one of the few saber casings that he'd judged could still work. Fighting with a dual-sided blade would make her even more deadly, as she did not have the raw Force power he had, but could use what she did have to great effect physically.

She was delighted with the synthetic red crystal, and performed exceptionally better in practice. Such a small change had increased her desire to learn, and to be pleasured. He began to understand that such things, though trivial in his long-detached mind, were likely important to everyone else. A kind word here, a teasing glance there, he would build them over the course of the long days of training, and then indulge her once they finished. She reveled in it, and not long after, he taught her how to hide her presence in the Force.

* * *

Unchecked, she would be like wildfire, but he did not want a wildfire. He needed an assassin in his shadow. She would foil any others who attempted to prematurely end his life. Of course, he expected her to one day test his back as well, but he was sure he could survive anything she dished out. Her skill was, after all, limited by what he'd decided to show her. She was clever though, surpassing his expectations by being creative with her lightning, and by instinct, falling into similar lightsaber forms that the Empire's assassins used. It was true then; the Jedi were indeed the source of their fighting styles, and they learned all of them during their training, more or less. He decided, as he watched her spinning and dealing damage, that he'd need to study them as well, and then perhaps blend a few for his own. Set styles couldn't handle variety very well.

As her training progressed, her skin grew darker, redder, and the tattoos of brown that had covered her lekku when she first arrived turned black against her newly darkened skin. Within three months, Alerevan had turned her into a passable assassin, but she had far to go. He could not, however, let her know how he himself had become so powerful.

It was a question she often posed to him, and he sensed the same hunger for power within her that he had felt when he first arrived in this bleak hell. Some revelations he thought, would only pass on to his successor, but that would be a very long time in the future. Sinya would likely not last that long. Apprentices so rarely did, and any who betrayed him could ultimately only have one fate.

Time, the young Sith discovered via the Jedi cruiser's chronometer, had indeed passed. Instead of five years spent on Malachor, it had been closer to one hundred and five, by the Jedi ship's calculation. A normal span for a Red Sith was, assuming they did not die in betrayal as so many did, easily three to five centuries, if not more, depending on how strong they were in the Force. By all counts, he was still young, but he also knew that no Sith on Ziost worth their blood spent their first century the way he had. He resolved to keep better track of time now, for he realized he could not simply let it pass by so carelessly as he had done before the Jedi arrived.

* * *

Had they not appeared to, as he had discovered from Sinya, investigate a new dark presence on Malachor, he likely would have perished powerful, but unsated. Like so many before him. Six months passed in the blink of an eye, at the end of that span, he had an apprentice who could match him in saber combat, but had no hope of overpowering him through the Force. She would be the melee fighter, and he would decimate whoever she missed. They were a good team.

With the intent to return to Sith Civilization, and constant pressuring from his new apprentice, he decided to take a new title for himself. He had not told Sinya his name, and 'Master' had been sufficient thus far, but he knew that could not last, so he decided on the day they left that from then on, he would be Rathios. Darth Rathios. He would return to his Empire out of the darkness, seemingly formed from the Void, bearing the title like a challenge to any who heard it as the ancient Sith had, and carve a slice of power for himself. At the very least, what he was owed, as firstborn son. He was no longer dim-witted enough to think his father hadn't replaced him. They left Malachor then, leaving nothing behind but an empty temple, stripped of Holocrons and Holobooks.

Space, the young Darth soon discovered, was _not_ suffused with the Dark Side, and he became painfully aware of just how malnourished he had become in his century long exile. He ate the rest of their supplies, and drew what vitality he could from the only source he had. Sinya did not mind of course, as he drew it while he lay with her. She got her pleasure, and he stayed alive, leaving her in a satisfied and weakened state. Feeding off the energy of a living person, he realized, was more effective than days of consuming the Force.

* * *

He realized that eating would have to become another forced habit he adopted, one he had long since forgotten after a century of living on nothing but Force energy. He also knew that if he wanted to challenge his father, he would have to recover, and expand his strength. For that, he needed live bodies that nobody would miss, and if there was one place in the galaxy he knew people went to not be missed, it was Nar Shadaa. Tatooine was too remote, and Dromund Kaas was too Imperial. The efficiency of the bureaucracy would discover his hunger long before he recovered enough to force it to overlook his activities, so to Nar Shadaa they went.

Sinya, for her part, was thrilled. She wanted to dance, and eat, and kill. Rathios sensed her emotions however, and found the underlying one offensive. The little Twi'lek's lust was powerful. "You are _mine_ Sinya." He snarled at her as they began to come out of hyperspace, "I will not share you with or have second helpings of the scum that live on this infested planet. Dance. Eat. Indulge your emotions, but do not think to…'sleep around'." He said, using air quotes, and genuine annoyance. "The last thing I need is a disease from these…worms."

He received her usual "Yes Master" response, but he felt her emotions as well. He didn't know which had apparently turned her on more, the possessiveness he displayed, or the promise of 'punishment', which up until this point, she had enjoyed. He had truly twisted this young Twi'lek into something far darker, though he suspected Malachor had been the ideal place to do so. He watched the ship's map, and spoke again. "Cover your presence. We're here." They shot out of hyperspace over the Hutt controlled moon of Nar Shadaa, and after a few mind tricks on the local hangar thugs, landed without an issue.

* * *

Rathios moved efficiently, letting Sinya help as well once he felt her eagerness, in bending the minds of every spaceport worker in their bay to their will. It wasn't a complicated trick, merely designed to make them either unnoticed or avoided. Though there were several with strong minds, they too were tricked with subtler Force powers and eventually the docking crew treated those two specific passengers as honored guests, or spoke of them to no one.

Rathios, ever aware that his skin would give him away, raised his Jedi-like hood, and erased his image from the minds of all they passed by. It was difficult of course, as his apprentice could not help with this, but he managed, and refined his precision in excising memories. That, he knew, would be a useful skill, and one he had _long_ wished to practice.

Stealth was imperative, but it was also irritating. Finally back in civilization, he felt the urge to conquer it, and rule it with the power at his command, but at the same time, he knew the Hutts and the Republic would never go for it. He couldn't quite handle governments yet. Nor would he receive help from the Empire. Their secrecy was to be maintained always.

He did not stay on the surface long, splitting up with Sinya early and heading to the part of the city known as 'Shadow Town' as soon as he could. She would indulge, and dance, and bring him food, and he would slake his thirst for power on the mindless drug-addled dregs of the city. The Jedi had not come with many credits, so he ordered her to earn some of those as well, which she did, through dancing. One look at her, he knew, would be enough for any perv with testosterone glands.

* * *

When she finally returned, Rathios had murdered and taken the apartments of some well off, but still unnoticeable middle-class family in the bad part of town, and made it his own. Unable to meditate as he usually would, practice his saber strokes, or use the Force in any meaningful way, he resorted to watching the HoloNet's news, physical hunger finally sated, for the moment. He mainly listened and meditated, as his body ravenously burned away at the components needed for life. He had gone a literal century without any however, and he felt the hunger returning.

Sinya then explained in her excited, girlish, and slightly mad way that she had an idea for a credit scam that would be both fun, and give him more to feed on. He had explained eventually that his power came from feeding on the living Force, but went on to tell her that it was something only a Red Sith could do. For all he knew, it was.

She had accepted it after trying and failing to feed herself, and resolved to relying on his power instead. He felt her acceptance that, if she ever wanted any kind of power base, she needed to ride his robe as long as possible.

* * *

For her scam, she would sell herself into a less pleasing form of entertainment, and he would be her first customer. Then, he would free her from her newfound slavery, murder everyone involved, and take their credits from the corpses. Obviously, doing so would garner the attention of the Hutts, so they would have to move quickly, and leave little trace of their presence, which meant killing via the Force, namely choking. Then they would escape, erase the minds of any witnesses they could, and the Holotapes of the security office, and move on to another such place.

They were always looking for Twi'leks. She had even acquired a revealing yet poorly made outfit, perfect for seduction, as Jedi robes could only do so much. She had also discovered that the desire other men mentally radiated for her was more than enough to satisfy her need to be wanted. Not even Rathios could figure out where that emotion came from, and he had been inside her head.

In this case however, she had to seduce slave peddlers, which wasn't hard. "What do you think?" she finished, panting slightly, eyes full of hope, lust, and excitement. Rathios stared at her for a long moment until that look started to fade slightly.

* * *

Then he gave her a knowing grin. "I think you are far more clever than I gave you credit for Sinya. We shall hit two or three such places. That should suffice for now." They ate the rest of the food, watched more of the news, intercourse, of course, and then slept for two days straight. Being on Malachor had taxed both of them. Rathios' eyes shot open as he heard a knock on their fair-sized apartment's door. You can tell many things from the tone of a knock. Thumping usually means police, or thugs. Not that there was much of a difference on this planet. But this was a light knock. Seemingly innocent.

Reaching out through the Force, Rathios examined their visitor, and moved her on her way, convincing her nobody was home. He had become exceptionally skilled at manipulating the minds of others, especially after dominating so many dead spirits on Malachor. It was difficult of course, as each person on this slum world had varying degrees of self-awareness when it came to their mind. He found that the most effective route to getting what he wanted was subtle manipulation of thought.

They would never know where those thoughts originated from, but he attached a desire to them that they couldn't quite ignore. It was similar to how they thought of what they needed to buy, how much money they needed to make, what they needed to do the next day. A nagging thought in their head, implanted by him would, with a little time, achieve the behavior he wanted.

He practiced this while his apprentice was away, and knew that he would need to master it before he returned to Dromund Kaas. Manipulating Imperials would be nothing like manipulating the countless vermin on this planet. He needed to over-practice, so that when he finally did start turning Imperial thoughts, they would turn with ease.

* * *

Thinking on why the woman had visited, to drop something off, he began to examine the lives of the family he'd ended in the middle of what was apparently an awkward breakfast. The man had been a doctor of some kind at a hospital that seemed legitimate. As legitimate as anything could be on Nar Shadaa.

Naturally, the night shift schedule had led the exceptionally dull housewife to look for companionship elsewhere during his long working hours. Their kids, who were closer to adult age, and thus not nearly as malleable or useful to Rathios, had been typical live-at-home adults. Meaning they had been utterly useless, and a drain on the family's resources, making credits here and there, but nowhere near enough to cover their cost of living. He found the entire thing pointless, but began moving his focused mind from room to room in the building, planting the idea that no one, under any circumstance, would go near their door again.

He let the simple minds of his fellow residents fill in the 'why'. He would not be in this hole long enough to care, and by the time somebody pushed past that block of his to actually look, they would be long gone. The bodies had been reduced to husks, then carefully burnt to ash, and disposed of. Their murder would likely never be solved, or cared about in the vastness of the Smuggler Moon's planetoid sized city.

* * *

Hearing his apprentice stir from the pleasure coma he had left her in, he walked over, and grabbed one of her head tails. He knew exactly where the erogenous zones were, practically everyone knew, so common were Twi'lek slaves. Even in the Empire, such things were the topic of conversation among younger men, and even some women. He felt her emotions shift from sluggish and tired, to aroused. He toyed with her, finding it amusing. "Get ready. We have slavers to scam."

He wasn't particularly fond of slavery, reading the histories of the old Sith Lords and his education on Ziost had opened his eyes to just how inconvenient slaves could be. Far better to have loyal, eager servants than ones who wished you dead because you ruined their lives.

Even if they did not live long, they could still rise up if large enough in number. The point was, however, that he was not going to murder these slaver rings out of any desire for good or peace. He would devour the girls just as remorselessly as their owners.

* * *

The scam went off without a hitch. What hitches there were, were quickly put down with either a quick murder, or a simple turn of the mind. They couldn't leave lifeless, drained husks everywhere after all. Just enough to start rumors. Sinya played the role of addicted Twi'lek perfectly, despite her appearance. The black tattoos only served to accentuate her beauty, rather than make her look fierce.

Even as a Twi'lek, which were exotic to humans, she looked exotic to her own kind as well. The slavers never stood a chance of denying her, to their own peril. She received looks from everyone, women included. They all died, however. Rathios sucked their very essence dry with ease, reveling in the vigor they had. Truly he could not have picked a better hunting ground. People engaging in such lusty activities radiated life naturally, slightly more than normal, but he left none of them with it.

He also made sure to search for Force sensitives, but there were none with enough strength or desire for him to use. It was well enough, he only needed Sinya for now anyways. More mouths to feed would only slow down how much stronger he grew. Five times they struck, over the course of a single night. They only stopped at five, because their first set of murders had been discovered, and the news spread like wildfire. Despite soldering the doors shut with their lightsabers, some enterprising slaver had broken through.

* * *

For once, the Cartel and the local police, even those not on the payroll, decided to work together. Civilians _and_ property had been lost, and on this planet, the line between the two blurred often. Someone had to pay, but no one did, as far as Rathios and Sinya knew at least. They left their last site quickly and stealthily as ever, after which, Rathios returned to the ship, deciding to abandon the apartment.

Sinya went out to indulge some more, returned with mountains of somewhat healthy, but still quite fattening food, as well as new clothes and dye for them, and soon they were off. They drifted in space, far from the smuggler's moon, as the food Rathios devoured passed through his malnourished body, and was expelled almost as rapidly to his perspective, in the timelessness of the void. After not doing such things for a century, he forgot how irritatingly frequent it was.

He did however, gain some much-needed weight. Once the ship's medical systems, which were quite advanced, had declared that he would be fine as long as he 'continued imbibing sustenance'.

* * *

Ultimately, they had spent nine months on Nar Shadaa, as the majority of their time had been devoted to keeping him from not dying. Once he'd somewhat stabilized, he had explained the need for currency. It was always useful in the Empire. After a solid six weeks of burning off the excess fat in the ship's sparring room as it floated aimlessly through random, uninhabited space, and he finally felt well enough to challenge his father. His muscles came back, showing well under his red skin, his ribs became hidden, and his face became fuller, and less like a skeleton.

Evidently, rumor on the streets of Nar Shadaa was now filled with whispers of a 'ragged sorcerer' wearing robes. The shift in appearance anew appropriate wardrobe would help him leave behind his emaciated form entirely. His new clothes, in his opinion, helped complete his transition to Darth.

Dark robes with hints of red, and a fuller, longer hood that would hide his eyes. His eyes never changed, still cold and dark as ever. Sinya was glad of this, of course. She enjoyed his newfound vigor and the energy that came with it. She also claimed to like his eyes, saying they made her shiver. That wasn't the type of shivering he was hoping they'd cause, but it worked in his favor all the same. The course was, eventually, set for Dromund Kaas, and off they went.


	3. Chapter 3: The Planet of Ice and Snow

**Chapter 3: The Planet of Ice and Snow**

* * *

As they began the long trip to Dromund Kaas, Rathios realized that he did not want to face his father with the lightsaber he had used as his slave those many long years ago, though to be fair, he'd replaced most of the parts by now. Regardless, he decided to craft a new one, and not with a synthetic crystal, either. The temple on Malachor had taught him much of the old Sith, like where they had gotten their lightsaber crystals.

Back in those days, Sith Alchemy had been used to make 'synthetic' crystals, but they were inferior to the ones the first Dark Jedi had brought with them. Even so, they were a far cry above the manufactured ones used by Sith today. They lasted longer, true, but rumor had said that a Jedi never replaced their crystal, and that this added to their strength. In some cases, their blades had even pushed through ones formed by synthetic crystals.

He did not wish to take that kind of chance with his existence, and, the Jedi's crystals were, supposedly, supposed to make them stronger. After hours of digging into an ancient and all but unlockable Holocron he had found in the deepest part of the Malachor temple, after days of searching, Rathios had discovered the Holocron had been made by Marka Ragnos, or at the very least, was a replication of an original design. His ancestors had been able to copy such crystal's data, after all, or so he'd been taught. The smug guardian had mocked his lack of crystal knowledge, of just how important such a thing was, and how strong a Sith could be, with the right one.

There were ways to make stronger synthetic crystals of course, usually by infusion of blood, and a bit of Alchemy, but most Sith seemed not to care about their crystal, as long as it functioned. Or rather, such had been true when he'd been in the Academy. For all he knew, variations in color or design could be popular by now. Much could change in a century.

* * *

Aside from King Adas, Marka Ragnos was the one ancient Sith Lord that Rathios had the most respect for, by far, and he had ultimately decided to heed the Holocron's advice. The whispers who shared his mind all agreed. Marka Ragnos had left a noticeable impact on the galaxy, despite his existing long before the Republic ever truly faced the Sith. He'd even raised Vitiate to power as a Lord, foreseeing his potential even then.

Marka Ragnos had, in his Holocron, said that he used a specialized crystal in his Warblade that he retrieved from a hidden and icy world, bathed in the Force, and far from Sith space. And though it had been used to power an ancient Sith Warblade, not a lightsaber, Rathios assumed it could serve the same function. Sinya had again proven herself invaluable when she heard him mention this after one of their many hours long sessions under the sheets.

She had even given the planet a name, and explained its' significance. Ilum, as it was known to the Jedi, seemed all but identical to the planet mentioned in Marka Ragnos' Holocrons, but the odds of it being the same were, literally, astronomical. Still, the Jedi crystals Sinya had brought with her had held up better than the makeshift synthetic ones they used. She'd still insisted on using the red anyways, and he saw no reason to force the issue. The less ties to her life as a Jedi, the better.

* * *

The Sith sighed then, and punched in new coordinates. Ilum was a bit out of their way, but the chance for a crystal unlike any likely used by current reigning Sith, and the chance to slay more Jedi, could not be passed up. Sinya came up behind him arms wrapping about his neck as she noticed the shift in course. "Where are we going now, Master?"

Rathios couldn't help but grin as he felt her press against his back. She was learning how to tease him far too effectively. Her intent was obvious as well, for her thoughts were loud and clear. To him, anyways. She knew he could read her mind, and even when he didn't, could sense her obvious thoughts and emotions.

"Ilum." He sensed her pause, and then the rising hate and lust within her mixed together.

"Ilum…that's going to take a while."

"It is." He snarled, turning and using the Force to send her flying backwards, all the way to their cabin. His aim was true, and she landed on the bed, though any pain from the act probably only fed her desires. He switched on the autopilot, and made his way back, his new clothes already on the floor by the time he reached their bed.

* * *

Hours passed, but soon the autopilot signaled they were close. The two Sith redressed, and hid their presence once again, but far more than they had on Nar Shadaa. A planet with many Jedi on it was too dangerous to blindly charge into. Stealth would be their ally here.

There were indeed Jedi. He sensed them, polluting the Force with their dogmatic beliefs and suffusing it with the Light. After so long living off the Dark Side, he almost felt nauseous. Sinya however, burned with rage, her lust having been satisfied. For the moment. "I will tear them apart…" she hissed, shivering with anger.

It had taken a while, but Rathios had ultimately shown how the continued enslavement of her people was in no small part due to the Jedi's ineffectiveness in preventing her people's capture in the first place. Even the Republic, who claimed to be against slavery, could do nothing, and had proven ineffectual for almost the entirety of her race's history since their First Contact. The Hutts had seen the Galactic appeal they had as servants, and had run with it. Nothing had been able to stop them, as of yet.

* * *

Nar Shaddaa had been an awakening for her, as a Twi'lek, and after their little scam, she had made her Master promise to, if possible, avoid consuming her people's essence. For her. He'd ultimately shrugged and agreed, as necessity had been driving his hunger anyways, more than any personal feelings towards who was caught within the ever-growing maelstrom of minds in his skull. Living minds, while malleable, took longer to assimilate than Force remnants, but he broke them all the same until they accepted the inevitable, and joined his collective.

He brought the ship in, and then glanced at her. He didn't need her angry yet. She was becoming noticeable. "Calm yourself, apprentice. You'll give us away. Let your rage cool and harden. It's far more useful when cooled, and less likely to burn _you_ as well."

She nodded, doing as he instructed. They touched down on the cold surface of the ice world, far from any Jedi they could sense, and much to Sinya's disappointment. Rathios calmed her however, saying they needed the crystals first before they could properly slaughter Jedi. Though it had taken a few hours, the years of tech manual study had ultimately proven useful, as the forge in the temple had been passably united with the assembly matrix of the Jedi's ship. It would suffice for his blade, though nothing would be able to compete with what he forged once he had resources and currency. The casing mattered little for now, though.

* * *

They descended towards the part of the planet that echoed through the Force with the Dark Side, as there were always two such wells of energy, keeping balance, and even life, alive on the planet. Amidst all the Light, it was like a feast just waiting for him to gorge on it. They landed quietly, and traveled for several hours in the darkness, using the Force to keep their bodies from freezing. Yet another useful technique learned on Malachor, and not one that would be found in any book.

Rathios had long since mastered it, for what he had slept on could barely be called a bed. A slab of cold metal, he had often come close to freezing in those early years, until he learned to use his pinpoint manipulation to warm his very cells with microbursts of pyrokinesis. Sith tended to prefer lightning, but there was a reason fire and death followed them everywhere.

Between that and puppeting the training dummies, his control had become honed to a degree that he'd never heard of. Even Sinya had no recollection of such a trick in the Jedi's histories. Her master had been properly startled when he'd simply turned their ship off from the inside, but then, understanding how basic starships were put together, at least those with hyperdrives, had made that easier.

Sinya however, had not done such activities for a century, and eventually relied on him to keep her warm in the harshest, and coldest part of Ilum, going into a meditative coma as he carried her. She wasn't all that heavy, even with her eye catching bust and healthy head tails. His muscles were also new however, and unused to this much strain. Eventually, he carried her along via the Force, and they both floated silently amidst the snow, ice, and blizzards.

* * *

By his calculations, Ilum's sun did not warm this part of the planet. Ever. It was covered entirely in ice and was beyond freezing. He used the Force to propel himself over the treacherous terrain, heading ever closer to the darkest part of the planet. The Dark Side swelled around him, but he did not care if the Jedi sensed it. It would take them months to get this far, so afraid were they of the darkness. Their minds radiated it, even across the planet.

Even with a ship, they would not willingly venture into the darkness for some time. They knew their fear of it, would make it stronger and turn them to madness. Most likely, they would wait until the chaos died down to investigate. The deadly storm of ice and wind that buried this part of the planet only served to make it more treacherous. Eventually he sensed the heart of the Dark Side below them, and prodded his apprentice awake.

As they slowly dropped to the ground down a massive crevasse, the air around them was warmer, and felt almost like Malachor. Sinya flinched, shivering in the darkness, but Rathios welcomed it like a lost lover, letting it flow into him. As he did, he noticed something odd. He felt more powerful than usual, as the Force was, for the first time in his memory, simply flooding into his very being, all but merging with it. He'd never, in all his long years, tried anything like this. Curious, he raised a hand towards the sky, and with the Dark Side flowing through him like a river, blasted a ferocious bolt of black and red lightning into the atmosphere of Ilum. On Malachor, he would've been shocked, but here, there was life, even on this dark part of the ice-covered planet. After that obvious display however, it slinked away to hide from the terrifying power of the Sith that echoed through the Force.

* * *

Enjoying himself, he warmed Sinya completely, and told her to embrace the darkness. He felt her try, but something was holding her back. As he'd become rather attached to his new apprentice, he was eager to share this with her, and thus they spent some time trying to figure out why she could not embrace it as he was doing even now.

The Force flowed through him so completely and effortlessly, he all but disappeared within it. Where before he could mask his presence, he had still had such a presence to mask. Not anymore. He was all but hidden in the Force, as much a part of it at that moment as it was of him. Eventually, he concluded that Sinya's mind simply could not grasp how her master had done what he had. The understanding eluded her, and eventually, they moved on.

The focal point for the darkness on this icy world, small in comparison to the Light, turned out to be an enormous cave full of crystals that shone in various colors and shades of red, pink, and purple. He told Sinya to find her new crystals, and proceeded deeper into the cave, drawn towards the source of this darkness. As the Force itself flowed through his entire being in this nexus of power, he began to see images in the crystals he passed.

* * *

Fleeting images, glimpses of the future…and the past. He recognized Marka Ragnos in one of them. Surely that had to be the past. Most of them were faces however, so very many faces. Faces that, though he did not know how he knew, he was sure he would someday turn into true Sith. Future apprentices then, but nothing on whether they'd be smart enough to avoid stabbing him in the back. Of course the future was vague, and since it was always in motion, most Force users had long given up on trying to predict anything more than large disasters, or immediate events. Such things changed often, and seemingly at a whim.

As he reached the center of the dark cave, suffused in the Dark Side, he finally came to the central point of the planet's gathered power, on this pole anyways. An enormous stalactite of black and red crystal hung from the center of the dark cave over water so black it drained away what little light the crystal gave off. It did give off light however, but near the top. It pulsed with red and black energy, suffusing the immediate area with truly foul taint.

On the tip of the crystal, Rathios saw a vision of a holocron, and once more he knew in the deepest part of his being that this would be His holocron. And this crystal would house his essence as the Holocron's gatekeeper forever. Immortality, of a kind. Reaching out to the Force, he snapped the crystal free, in the exact proportions he would someday use for his Holocron. What was left was shaped perfectly for a lightsaber crystal, or rather, it grew to the desired shape after the Holocron crystal was snapped off. The crystals were tied to the Force so strongly that they grew rapidly to repair cracks and damage. This made them truly invaluable. He quickly removed the crystal that would be used in his saber, and then knelt, letting the two crystals hover before him in the blackness of the cave.

* * *

The Force swelled like a tidal wave, but instead of crashing along a shoreline, it crashed into the Sith. His eyes burned with darkness as he felt his body starting to tear from the stress of handling the sheer amount of energy he was allowing to travel through him, but he needed more. He needed to push himself to his very limit to achieve what so few other Sith had, for he was channeling this great power.

Raising one hand to each crystal, he focused the darkness, letting it run through him freely, but guiding most of it through his hands and into the glowing crystals. The future Holocron crystal had had time to grow black in the Dark Side's presence within the cave, as well as keep its red color, but his new crystal had been plain crimson, as it had been new.

That changed now as the darkness, _his_ darkness, poured into it. He lost track of how much time he spent pouring the Force into his crystals through him, but eventually, his strained body began to wither, and he felt his life force fading. He would end here if he did not stop, and a quick glance at the potential images in the crystals confirmed this. An image of him lying dead and forgotten on the floor of the black cave, undisturbed for centuries until his very bones faded to dust.

* * *

But still he pushed on. Finally, he felt the crystals were full to bursting with his Force energy. The future Holocron crystal's years of absorbed Dark Side energy had merged with his own provided essence, but his lightsaber crystal was entirely bonded with him. As he grasped them, it felt as though he held a part of his very being in his clawed hands. He panted hard, ragged breath echoing through the cavern until finally it slowed.

He was still withering, however. He immediately went into a Force induced trance, relying entirely on his masterful manipulation and his mind to repair his dying body. The Dark Side by its nature was corrupting, and now after letting so much of it run through his newly healthy body, he was wasting away rapidly before the corrupting nature of his art.

The Force surged again, and he used it to start healing himself, but the Darkness could not undo what had been done. Luckily, this was a planet largely in the Light. Reaching up through miles and miles of the planet itself, the consciousness of the Darth grabbed the power of the Light, not caring who noticed it, and began to use it to heal the damage done by the Dark. And it did, slowly. Too slowly. A voice came to him then, echoing within his mind, deep and baritone.

* * *

_Alerevan…_ it spoke with apparent pity, _Such power…such suffering…all a waste, it seems._ The voice radiated power in his mind, power he could barely imagine, and he knew there was only one being in this galaxy with such power. Anger crept into the voice then, _I detest waste…_

"Then save me…" the Pureblood snarled into the darkness, "You…could. You have…the power. Do it. Exact your price later." There was a sense of amusement, though it was brief. The being speaking to him was like a Nexxu, dangling a rodent over its' maw for an afternoon snack.

_An apt analogy…_ it spoke again, evidently reading his mind, _Very well. I will give you the power you seek…and I will save your form. You will do my bidding…but not yet. Not as you are now. Return to the Empire, cement your power base, and prove to your fellow Sith that you are strong enough to lead them. Just remember whose name you're leading them in._

"Consider…it done…Master." He had barely spoken the words when power surged into him. Not Light, not Dark, just the Force itself. It was, somehow, a perfect balance of both, and it was at his disposal.

_You have the power you need to survive…use it._ The presence vanished then, its attention called elsewhere, but he felt it kept an eye on him in the background, watching. He waited for what must have been hours before it finally ignored him completely, and only then did he begin to work. He hadn't used the gift as yet, for he hadn't needed to. Vitiate, if that's indeed who had spoken, had stabilized his rate of decay to a slower, but still inevitable crawl. He wouldn't last the trip to the ship if something wasn't done, not after waiting so long. That had been necessary though.

* * *

The Pureblood had read enough Sith history to learn a basic fact about all Sith, even their Emperor. There was a game being played between them, a game of power. Thrones on the Dark Council, ships of war, loyal Imperials, all were but pawns in this game, and only rarely did the other pieces move. But when they did move, it was usually in betrayal of their own side, and to their benefit, a move that would aid them in the long run. Rathios knew now that he had enough power, compared to, presumably, the Emperor, to be beneficial to him. In the moment.

The Emperor's power had grown from devouring planets, that much, the ghosts of Malachor knew, though he had never been able to divine which planets, or how they knew that information. The individual it came from had been lost in the maelstrom of latent minds he'd bent and fused to his will. It stood to reason then, that if a being that powerful came across someone like him, someone who couldn't dream of matching his strength, but possessed enough to increase it without having to devour a planet's worth of Living Force, the smart move would be to feed that being's potential, and then usurp and drain them later.

There was no doubt in his mind that the power the Emperor offered was a trap. The immortal Sith was relying on this particular pawn's desperation to live, but in that moment, the clarity of having one foot in the Cosmic Force kept his mind focused. There was a flaw in his benefactor's plan. The power that had been given to Rathios appeared to have no source…to a Sith that could not envision the scope of that power. It was difficult, and it took more time, but eventually Rathios saw the truth of it. Vitiate's power had limits, though they were far beyond his, and his essence as a whole seemed to be in a state of inevitable decay, although it happened very slowly. What he'd spared for his servant had been a drop in an ocean.

* * *

That revelation alone should've driven him to act, but he was too focused on his own predicament to fully grasp what the Emperor's decaying power meant for life in the Galaxy. Had he figured it out then, things might have been different. But instead of focusing that revelation, he discovered another, and one far more useful to him. The strength of the Emperor was a combination of both the Dark and Light side, forced together to maintain a well of 'gray' energy, but Rathios did not need neutral Force. He needed the Light, as he had, quite by accident, been absorbing the energy of the Dark Side nexus on Ilum since he'd landed.

Had it been as strong as say, Tython's, he would be dead now. On a planetary scale, it was a small nexus of darkness, but even then, that meant it was, from the perspective of a humanoid, a massive area. A massive amount of the Dark Side that he had let pass through his body, his midichlorians, and into his crystals.

The solution was indeed the Light side…but he needed to do more than heal. He had always seen the Light side as a tool, and he knew that many Sith saw it the same way. For as effective as Dark Side healing was, one could not simply discredit the power of the Light. It would be the height of foolishness to ignore it, and pretend it was weak out of pride. He had taken the power of Ilum's Dark Side nexus into himself somewhat unawares, because he had, for a century, relied on his instinctual need to feed off the Force to survive. Malachor's own nexus had been weakened without a planet, or even an asteroid. It had been enough to corrupt him perhaps, but without a source of life to feed off of, even one as dim as Ilum, it had been ultimately weaker. He suspected the dark rituals performed there had been what had made the area so suffused with the Dark Side.

* * *

As he lay all but lifeless on the floor of the dark cave, he forced the connection feeding off the Dark Side to cease. He did not need to survive on it anymore, he could live on his own body energy…or so he thought. As soon as he disconnected himself, he felt his own power exceed what his body could handle. Even with the better part of a year spent recovering, it could not undo a century of malnourishment.

He then did something he never had before…allowed the Light to flow into him as the Dark Side had for so long. It began to heal him, naturally, on its own, and with enough time like this he knew he'd be preaching peace in brown robes. The peace he felt was alluring. Familiar. Calming. The smoking corpse of his pet and friend came to his mind. Ultimately, it was also a lie. A lie Light users told themselves to keep their faith in it. Peace would always end, and it was the very balance the Jedi claimed to protect that would cause it to do so.

He stopped, once he had healed his vital organs and repaired the decayed tissue with life and Light, but his own power was still too great to contain. Even if he could push his body to the peak of perfection, or modify it to hold such power, it would never fit what he currently had. Then, he realized why.

* * *

The power of Ilum's dark nexus was still within him, and he let it bleed out into the planet again…but something was different. Upon examination, he found that every cell in his body was now sustaining itself against constant decay by drawing upon both nexuses. His very cells had, on some primal level, understood that they would die if left unconnected to a source of power that would sustain them…so they connected to the only thing they could. The planet itself. He tried to draw from the Force, and found that it was different. He could draw from both sides, light and dark, easily and at will, but recognized the danger of doing so. Too much at once would overwhelm his body, and likely cause an explosion that would break the planet. Finally, he woke himself, the power of both the Light and Dark side flowed into him at a steady pace…but for some reason, his emotions seemed…dulled. He examined his body then, fascinated.

Assuming he did not fall to a battle wound that damaged his body too severely to be healed, he knew his form would last for a _very_ long time, given the rate of cellular regeneration he could increase or decrease with a bit of focus. Best of all, he done all of this without using a speck of the Emperor's power, and he wondered if he had managed this feat without being detected, by the Emperor, or the Jedi on the planet.

He doubted it, for his brush with his end had also revealed the immensity of the Force. He had once doubted it went beyond their Galaxy, that it alone was the focal point for the Force. He was wrong. He knew that bonding with these nexuses had caused waves within the Force, and knew he had to act quickly.

* * *

Once more, his viewpoint had been expanded, quite painfully. Remembering pain, he withdrew back to his body entirely, letting the Emperor's gift fade back to whence it came, and groaned as he sat up. He was immediately met by a tight, gripping hug and a cavern in near total darkness. "Sinya…" he managed to grunt. "I can't…breathe…"

There was a gasp, and air flooded into his lungs, but something was different from before. The lust for power was…. diminished. As was the desire to destroy. To conquer. To rule. To love. To do anything, in fact, for his emotions had lost the coloration that made them so powerful. They were…gray. And that's when he understood. He had reached true neutrality. He knew he was bonded to both Malachor and Ilum now, and he also knew that secret must never be spoken aloud. Destroying a planet wasn't impossible, after all.

"M-master…" his apprentice whispered, "Why…why can't I sense you in the Force? Before you had a physical presence, outlined by the current but now…there's nothing. I thought you were…were…" He sensed her emotions now, clearer than before, but lacking the allure they had held to him. The fun he knew he could have by twisting them to his purpose. Now, it all seemed so dull by comparison. He really hoped that would fade, for that was one part of having an attractive apprentice that he so enjoyed.

* * *

He raised a hand to her cheek, and felt slight relief as the physical contact evoked an instinctive response. That was something, at least. He imagined other physical interactions would bring back other emotions, which was fine. He didn't need them constantly distracting him anyways. "I am fine, Sinya. I have…reached a new level. Not entirely…on purpose either. I attuned my crystals to my very essence, and…I over-did it. My body told me to stop, but I kept going. What I did to stay alive…it has changed me. Dulled my emotions, and yet, never have I felt the Force so clearly, so strongly…"

He made an effort to rise, and found that doing so through the Force was actually less effort than using his muscles. He had to be careful now…he would shrivel and become weak if he relied on the Force entirely. There had been records of Sith who'd done exactly that, and ended up succumbing to frailty.

"Wh-what? How…?" His apprentice's questions seemed amusing to him, as they lacked the insight he now had.

* * *

"I will show you how to bind your crystal to yourself…and I will make sure that neither you nor my other apprentices over-do it as I have. I may have gained a body that will age slower…if it ages at all, and stronger connection to the Force…but I've lost something along the way…my desire for power…my rage…they feel muted. But alas, such is the price of power. A power I refuse to lay on anyone else." He sensed the thought forming in her skull as she processed his words. "No. You don't want to be like me, apprentice. You enjoy your emotions far too much. To you, this would be hell. To me…it's acceptable for what I paid to get it." Even though he hadn't used Vitiate's strength in the end, he had still stabilized his decay, and kept him from being devoured and incorporated into Ilum's own void of darkness.

He moved on then, showing her how to bind her crystal to her with the Force. Filling it to its' limit was not necessary to make it a part of her, but he suspected he would find a use for a crystal so thoroughly filled. He pocketed the Holocron crystal, not even mentioning it, nor what it was for. They returned to the ship, and after soldering and changing several pieces of Rathios' lightsaber, and her former master's, they were able to make a suitable pair of blades for themselves. Casings were frivolous anyways. He would refine his curved handle design once he returned to civilization.

As he suspected after leaving the cave, his desperate act of survival had echoed through the Force, and Jedi now swarmed like bees over the dark part of Ilum, desperately seeking his ship. He kept it cloaked in darkness however, lifting off at night and, through use of the Force alone, setting them adrift in the planet's orbit. Only once they were far from any ships did they activate the engines, and take off. Nobody would ever truly know what he had accomplished here. Unless he told them, or they managed to find his connection, buried amongst the millions of others a planet-sized object possessed. As he sped away from Ilum, his power did not diminish, and he knew why. The Force was ever-present, distance was an illusion, just as size was. In fact, the more he learned, the more he was convinced that one's own mental perception of their strength was what limited them. One who knew this could use their manipulation of the Force to do…anything. He made a mental note to test the limits of his reach later, for though he felt ultimately stronger, especially with his crystal, he knew he still had them, and did not know how they'd measure up to his father's after a century.


	4. Chapter 4: Rise of a Darth

**Chapter 4: Rise of a Darth**

* * *

Rathios returned to Dromund Kaas with unexpected ease. The Imperials welcomed him with frankly refreshing respect for what he was, and who he was. He ordered the ship stripped for design knowledge, and told them to disseminate it through the Empire, if useful. The parts would go to the military. Once they'd been processed, they proceeded on to Kaas City. Someone had obviously seen his return coming, but as he strode into his family home, he finally had an inkling as to who. It was not his father.

He found his dear old dad in their family home, completely unaware that his first son had survived the long century, and returned. As Rathios surveyed the scene in the family house's kitchen, he was sure that it was his father. He looked a little older, slightly past his prime after a hundred years, but still the same man. He had a much younger wife of course, Red Sith, and several children. From the number of children, Rathios knew then, that he had taken several wives.

"Al-" His father's sentence was cut off as Rathios raised a clawed hand, and the older Sith choked, struggling to break it. The look of sheer surprise, and then anger on the struggling Sith Lord's face was almost worth waiting a century to see. Almost.

* * *

He had almost spoken the Sith's old name, but now, that naïve boy was dead. Darth Rathios was all that remained. The voices of the old Sith spirits he had devoured rose now from deep within him. They often provided small insights to history or certain things he did not understand, and had been with him the longest, since the first day he'd spent in that hell. They were more like whispers, easily ignored, but useful.

He had long since figured out how to absorb someone's living Force without having their personality hang around too strongly, but these he tolerated. They fed his rage now, urging him to kill, to override his new indifference, but no, he thought, not like this. If he was going to exact a century's worth of revenge, he would savor every second. He could only kill his father once, after all.

"I am Rathios now…" He spoke in a charismatic baritone, a far cry from the low hiss he had been stuck with on Malachor, and indeed it matched his form. He was tall, though not overly so, and he had a fair amount of muscle, but was not bursting with it. He was thinner than his father, but then, he was thinner than most.

* * *

More than once, Nar Shaddaa thugs had tried to attack him because of his thinner, almost unthreatening form…and they had fallen. As his father would. No more would he be underestimated.

"Right…" his father's voice whispered hoarsely, "Rathios…. Of course."

Rathios let his choke hold fade, but kept the iron ring of Force around his father's neck as he walked past him, further into their apartment. The young Sith walked down the main hall, and pushed open the doors to the large, centermost training area. He dragged his father along with him, making the mighty Sith slide along the floor like a K'lor'slug.

"We duel." He snarled, jumping into the air, and landing in a three-point stance on the sparring floor. Standing, a dark red and black saber crackled to life in his hand, sparking with energy. "Draw your sword…I challenge you for the right of the Darth title. There can be only one. He who wins this duel will win your power…your influence…" Rathios' eyes darted to the attractive forms of his younger wives, who had followed the two in. "Your wives…"

His father gasped, now free of the hold, and took off his dark, flowing garments, letting them drop to the floor. "Fine…" He sighed, but from the look in his eye, both he and Rathios knew what was about to happen. There was to be a new Sith Lord in this ancient house. A century old vengeance finally satisfied. It was, in essence, the kind of combat that Sith lived for…and often what they died for as well.

* * *

Rathios decided to toy with his father as his red blade met the combination of black and red that his own Lightsaber now had. It was a running color scheme with him, and he rather liked it. Sinya meanwhile, cheered from the balcony above the sparring area, cackling with mad glee. The other women eyed her with distaste, drawing their offspring closer to them, before having their eyes drawn back to the battle by the combatant's latest lock.

Rathios knew exactly how strong his father was. Nothing was secret anymore. He was learning things from his father's surface thoughts that he had long wondered about, but to his father, his 'dead' son was an unreadable void, barely detectable in the Force. He finally locked eyes with the one being he still had the desire to hate as their sabers hissed together. This produced a grin from his father.

"Your fear betrays you, son…" Bravado, and lies, as per usual. Rathios had projected no fear, nor did he feel any. He was furious, and his cold anger began to grow every time their blades locked together in a sparking hiss of plasma. His father struck fast and hard, but the patient would-be Darth managed to meet each strike until they locked once again, causing the plasma blades to hiss and screech as they pushed against each other.

* * *

Still using one hand, and slightly curious, he let the stronger form of his father push his blade towards him. His skin sizzled as the edge of his new blade seared his cheek, but the long-numbed sorcerer was used to that. His father saw it as a sign of impending victory though, and he radiated the kind of confidence that comes from having power, and knowing how to crush an enemy with it. "You never could utilize your emotions. You're a failure as a Sith."

That, he decided, was his moment. His anger surged forth for the first time since Ilum, surprising the Darth with its cold, devouring, but focused potency. He raised a clawed hand, and sent his hated father against the nearest wall, pinning him to it. The lights dimmed in the face of the Darth's power, and all went shades of red and black as Rathios glared at the man who had ruined his life, but led him to power. Inadvertently of course…but power all the same.

"So…you did…learn…after all…" The older Sith spoke strained words, and the young Darth let his Lightsaber float in the air, he lifted his father's via the Force as well, and re-ignited it. The Force surged as he drew not just from Ilum, but Dromund Kaas as well, for the Dark Side was quite strong on this planet. Perhaps the same way Malachor had been, once upon a time.

* * *

Red-black lightning sparked over his body. His eyes radiated wavy traces of red-tinged power, and darkness emanated off his entire form. The shadows seemed to swirl and grow around his feet as they manifested in reality at his whim. His free hand then shot lightning into his father's large body, and he relished the screams of pain and genuine terror he drew from a fully realized Sith Lord.

He heard the shocked gasps from the women and children, even Sinya, on the balcony. Truly, his power was frightening, even to Sith. The man he'd considered his target for over a hundred years writhed in said agony for over a minute as, one by one, the guided electricity shut down his organs. His skeleton became visible several times, such was the power of the charge running through him.

Finally, the barrage of red and black lightning ended, and the form of the older Sith fell to a crumpled, smoking heap on the floor. Being fried to the very cell-structure of one's nerves caused, as Rathios had found out with disgust, a temporary but total loss of control over one's bowels. The man who'd once controlled his destiny now lay on hands and knees in a puddle of his own filth, with various other foul smells emanating from his soon-to-be corpse.

* * *

Summoning both sabers to his hands, Rathios stood triumphant over his father. "Raise your head, scum. I will be the last thing you see."

Raising his head, the older Red Sith crawled into a kneeling position, and a smile slowly crept across his face, despite the humiliation. "I raised you…well. You are…what you were always…meant to be." There was a soft hiss as the two blades severed his neck, and he fell to the floor with a soft thump, lifeless.

With no pretenses now, Rathios floated effortlessly up to the balcony, and eyed his new toys. He no longer had to hide his power, and he relished it. He was a Darth. The leader of his house. And now, he needed heirs. There were three women in all, each beautiful, dark red, and definitely Kaasian. Ziost Sith had an entirely different bearing.

They would do for pleasure, but for breeding, he needed a proper woman. "Hello there…" he gave a genuine smile that came off as depraved. Only one of them did not flinch. His eyes darted to her. She understood. Maybe there _was_ something to salvage here. Then, his eyes slid southward, to their offspring. His siblings. His creepy smile vanished, replaced by a genuine look of softness he had not expressed in over a century. The children stared at him with large, red eyes.

* * *

"Do not fear brothers…sister. I will not harm you. On my honor as a Darth, your well-being is something I am invested in, and as long as you do not betray me, there is no reason for us to quarrel." A sigh flowed from their mothers. "You cannot however, be recognized officially as part of this family. You will be classified as servants, you will go into the galaxy, and do my bidding. When you're of age. Your real training will begin tomorrow." His eyes darted to the oldest boy. "You however, will be heading to the Ziost Academy." His mother clutched his shoulders tight. "You have the potential to be Sith. Prove yourself worthy, and I will make you my apprentice. I will show you techniques only our family can learn. Fail…and you will die."

Rathios stared the boy's mother down as he stood again. She had a right to be afraid. The boy was sensitive true, and there was potential, but it was buried. Like Rathios' had been. Instead of being subjected to Malachor however, he would go to the Sith Academy, which was every bit as harsh, but nowhere near as empowering.

Sinya whispered something into his ear, questioning how they were going to be killed, and even suggesting several methods of torture before they perished in a similar 'spectacle' to his father. "Oh no, no my dear Sinya. We do not kill Sith. Not without good reason, anyways. Our blood is rare enough as is. These women will pleasure our guests, and servants who perform well. Very few men ever get to lie with a true Sith. They will do well as entertainment."

* * *

The one on the right scoffed. "My family will never allow yo-"

"Your family," he interrupted, "Will obey me as well. You will become an entertainer of the highest class, a reminder of the superiority of Ziost, and a stain on their name for associating and breeding with a Lord who was weak."

The other two said nothing, resigning themselves to their fate. Such was the way of politics in the Empire, but Rathios had understood the game long ago. He would be challenged, of course, but he welcomed their challenges. They would be to the death, and he would absorb them as he had done so many others, save his father. Skilled as he was, he did not want to chance hearing that man's voice echoing in his head too. His death had been natural, if humiliating.

With that out of the way, the new Darth strode from the hall, and found the household guard. As one, they affirmed their loyalty to him, provided they continued to be paid. He assured they would be, as his family had housed theirs for at least seven generations, a fact he saw they were glad he was aware of. Once he'd sufficiently earned as much of their trust as he was likely to gain on day one, he had them take care of his father's corpse, while he ascended to his new quarters, and examined his new holdings that would, with time, become his base of power.

* * *

Something strange happens when the balance of power shifts suddenly in an established society. People get nervous, jumpy, irritated, a low buzz fills the very air itself. This was what happened to Kaas City when one of the highest ranking Sith Lords residing there was murdered in cold blood, and replaced by his son.

Now usually, such things are common with Sith, but only when the elder is very old and the successor is very young. First, Rathios rid himself of any evidence of his old life while he ordered Sinya to scout out the local political scene. Old holovids of his early years, family portraits of himself as a baby, his father, and long dead mother. All of it went into what he aptly named the 'burning pile', and he tossed each of these ties to a dead Sith away without so much as a glance.

He found the old droid he'd once sparred against, and become rather attached to, abandoned in the storage area within their hangar, and his rage bubbled at seeing his old friend in such a state. Still, thoroughness had always helped him in the past, and he removed the seemingly totaled droid's memory of his true name. Oddly enough, his brain was intact, but…off. He made a note to fix him later, and left him on the charging station in the storage compartment of his father's Phantom class starship. It would make re-activating and repairing him easier.

* * *

He burned the rest of his history away, and quietly directed Imperial Intelligence to remove any physical record of Alerevan Mehl'an. Within a few hours, his past was sufficiently eradicated. Most if not all those who knew him when he was younger had died in the long century he'd been away, and he had never been renowned enough to garner attention. But such is expected in an Empire full of Sith.

Next, he had acquired, by no small amount of his father's credits, a mantle of Beskar, Mandalorian Iron, to wear as a pair of shoulder plates in the style of the highest ranked Sith on Ziost, or rather, the style they wore centuries ago. He had learned much of Mandalorians from the century spent devouring them on Malachor. Their language, their smithing practices, and their culture.

He appreciated their simple warrior ways, even if compared to his own kind they were rather…primitive. He could not fault them for that however, as his race had also once worshiped war. It was this knowledge of custom and language, and only this, that enabled him to even hire a Mandalorian smith, let alone a good one. In those days, they were not on the friendliest of terms with Imperials, especially Force users, but credits have a way of mending all sorts of bridges, and he now had no shortage of those. It was nice being nobility again.

* * *

Next, he had a pair of similarly forged gauntlets made, worthy of a Darth. They would serve to protect his hands and arms, as they extended to the elbow, and were similarly black and red. Losing a hand or arm would severely weaken the kind of power he could control, and while he assumed regrowing one was an option, he didn't want to try until he was a bit wiser, and more caught up on the basics of anatomy. Malachor had not possessed anything like that, even though it would've helped with healing techniques.

Once his armor was finished, all he needed was a new Lightsaber casing. His was all but falling apart after the intense battle it had been through, and he had known it wouldn't hold up long. He went to the Forge in the very hall he had slain his father in, the same Forge that had created his family's Lightsabers since the Sith started using them again. But he would not use a synthetic crystal this time, for they were often flawed and unstable. Not to mention, weak.

He had tried empowering one the way he had the crystal from the cave on Ilum, but it had shattered as he poured the Force into it. His future apprentices would need real crystals as well. He and Sinya crafted new cases, once more utilizing a Mandalorian to provide them with the legendary Beskar that was all but impervious to lightsaber strikes. His own finished hilt was curved once again, but structured in such a way that it amplified and focused the plasma to a sharp point, rather than a conical one, that nearly every other saber had. His blade had a sharp menace to it, and he knew it would serve him well.

* * *

Once his attire and name were taken care of, Sinya returned to him with the information on those he would need to subjugate, to keep his new status. The Lords of Kaas, the local council of Dark Lords who ruled the city, and who were, short of the Dark Council itself, seen as the strongest Sith in the Empire, were down a member. This was discovered when city reporters found the dead body of one such prominent Sith Lord hanging from the front of his own home by shackles, nude, covered in excrement, and with his head severed from his body, which was found hanging just above it with a separate chain.

'The Force shall set us free' had been burned into the building by a Lightsaber, just above his severed head. The council had met not long after, to discuss these troubling events and assuage their citizens. Publicly. It was the perfect stage for Rathios, and he considered the idea of a real, living audience an exciting one. He found getting in to be easier than he thought. As it turned out, common people in the Empire were just as malleable as those on Nar Shadaa. Even more so when they learned he was Sith. Many did not even need to be influenced, so great was their terror, mixed with respect, and the desire to not die gruesomely. It was nice having sheep that understood what awaited them if they disobeyed him.

He also noticed that their devotion to the Emperor was similar in nature to the thoughts he planted in their minds. He began to wonder if the same had been done to him, but forgot it soon after. He had more important things to worry about than faint traces of mind control.

He had hidden himself, both from sight and the Force temporarily, as he'd marched up to his father's empty seat on the council, which had been conveniently in the middle. Thus, in the middle of the Lord's assuaging of fear, a rather sinister figure appeared before all of them, seemingly out of nowhere.

* * *

Silence reigned, as he stood, and looked into the closest hovering camera. "I am Darth Rathios. I am the one who murdered your former council member. As his firstborn son, his titles and possessions are now mine to claim. Thus, as my first act on this council, I am striking his name from the record. Let any who speak it be met with swift and severe punishment." He was, of course, met with the arrogant squabbles of protest that one would expect from old, fat Sith in power. Sith who were sure of themselves.

He realized then that a demonstration was in order. They loudly doubted his claim to being a Darth, and as was tradition, they would challenge his power. He welcomed it. Few things made his blood boil anymore, but such an ancient rite of their shared culture, for they were all Red Sith like he was, filled him with a feeling he could not accurately describe.

"I am a Darth in the truest sense of the word…test my worthiness, if you think you've the stomach for it…" his words cut through their bickering. Without even raising a hand, each of the council members began to float into the air by their necks, only choking slightly. The sight was disturbing to say the least, but it made the message clear. He looked back at the camera, and smirked. "Let those who dispute my title challenge me for it, as real Sith are meant to. Otherwise…you will _all _obey me."

* * *

He let the council members drop, and grinned at the cameras, lifting his new hood just enough so they could catch the unsettling stare of his eyes. He heard the snap-hiss of a lightsaber behind him, and turned with the appropriate amount of menacing slowness. One of the city council members was challenging him, taking a stance. He drew his new curved saber with a Force pull, and it ignited with a smooth hum that made his spine tingle. He loved this new blade. The curved handle felt perfect in his grip. Never again would he use a saberstaff. Having one hand free to use the Force was necessary now.

He bowed, as was traditional in a duel for power, and did not receive one in return. That, more than anything, ignited his cold fury, though the only sign of it was his narrowed eyes. The councilor leapt at him, but a clawed hand went up, stopping him in mid-air. The older Sith was forced back to the floor.

"Now now, we _bow_ when we duel, in my culture. Clearly Ziost has been lax in your education for the last century…I will turn this new capital into a proper home for the Sith. And I start, by ridding it of the vermin." The councilor was forced into a bowing position, and then released. He was spitting with incoherent fury once he'd been Force-handled, like a child, and then released.

* * *

He leapt again, shouting furiously, but Rathios moved as well, raising his blade just high enough to require little more than a flick of his wrist for what he had in mind. In one motion, he beheaded the council member without so much as singing his new clothes, and smirked. He turned to the other members, who had since drawn their own Lightsabers. The cameras kept rolling the whole time, whether by way of Rathios' mind tricks or for the continued high drama of the Sith, no one knew.

The hand raised again, and dark red lightning shot from it, curling around their blades with intelligent guidance, and hitting each with accuracy that truly frightened them. But it was not enough to burn them to ash, nor even to increase their own power by taking it in, as he did with the fading life of the lord he had just bisected. It forced them to their knees, and with that, Rathios knew he had established his dominance.

One by one, their sabers deactivated, and they knelt to their new Lord. Rathios turned back to the camera then, and raised a crackling fist. "For the Emperor." The broadcast went blank then, and left the city mostly in silence. The vast majority of people needed a few moments to process what they'd seen. It was like something out of the old Sith legends, for that was how Rathios had planned it. He knew the rumors would begin to float now, about who he was, how he'd become so powerful. He'd let them grow more and more fantastical, and had Sinya plant more than enough to keep any rivals far from anything resembling the truth. He knew the tales would draw the truly arrogant Lords to him first, and they in turn, would make him stronger.

* * *

His ascension to self-proclaimed Darth status, followed immediately by a live demonstration of his power on what turned out to be the eve of the Imperial new year, erupted like wildfire over the Imperial HoloNet. From Ziost to Dromund Kaas, and every hidden corner in between, the news centered around this brazen and brutal rise to power. As he expected, those with an ego and a desire to grab a Darth title for themselves on the Sith Empire's capital world flocked to his home, for in those days Darths were few in number, and rarely not on the Dark Council.

Anyone who claimed the title was, by Sith law, required to defend it. Anyone who slayed the one claiming it in 'honorable' combat would in turn gain it for themselves. More than once a Dark Council member had had to show up to kill the new 'Darth' at the end of a string of murders, and claim the title for himself, effectively removing it from circulation, and stopping the bloodshed. Not many were willing to contend with the Council, but Rathios did not fear them. That is why when a member of the Council announced himself at the entrance to his abode, Rathios welcomed him in.

When he saw who stood at his door, he sighed inwardly in relief. Darth Vowrawn, a Pureblood who had both survived being on the Dark Council for decades, and always appreciated the games Sith played with succession, would surely understand the situation. Rathios paid him every courtesy, as they took a seat in the lounge, with Sinya acting as the loyal and quiet bartender. Her excitement was infectious, and distracting, but Rathios kept his attention on Vowrawn. He wasn't the most powerful member of the Council, but it did not pay to underestimate a Sith who had held the title longer than most.

* * *

"So…" the other Pureblood's tone lingered into a brief, but awkward silence as he looked Rathios over, "You are the new 'Darth' of Dromund Kaas, are you?" Rathios only nodded as the tension in the room escalated quickly under the Dark Council member's harsh tone. "Such titles are only ever given to those on the Dark Council, young…Rathios. By taking such a title, you all but state your intent to become a member." The younger Sith began to respond, but was cut off. "Becoming a member of the Dark Council is not as simple as murdering another councilor… though if you could manage that, you would admittedly impress quite a few of us. The privilege is earned by contributing to our Empire as a whole, not given because one is good at killing. More than a few have tried to ascend through murder. Only to find the rest of us all too willing to end them once they arrived in our chambers."

"My Lord…" Rathios began in the same charismatic tone he always used these days, "My intent is not to climb onto the Council. Not yet, anyways. You knew my father, and you knew his rank. I merely claimed it for my own, and under my guidance, Kaas City will flourish. The Emperor's plans to invade the Republic will no longer be put off by useless bickering. I will force this city of ours to comply, by my own hand, and the Council's leave."

The tension leaked from the room as the older Sith relaxed visibly. "Is that so? Interesting. I admit I find it hard to know if you speak truthfully…your emotions are almost a void…very well. We shall see how well you do. The job is yours, until you die, or I find someone better. Hand me your sword, and kneel." Sinya started, but calmed down with a glare from her master as Rathios' blade flew into the hands of the Dark Councilor.

* * *

Vowrawn ignited it, and inhaled sharply. "Marvelous…the Holovids truly do not do these colors justice." He coughed clearing his throat as Rathios knelt, and lowered his head. He could be easily beheaded here, and no amount of Force meditation would save him from that. Vowrawn was a fellow Sith however, and a Pureblood. Rathios had offered to manage the endless bureaucracy of the capital, and thus keep it from being piled onto the Council's lap. He hoped that would be enough to spare his existence, as he had no doubt his father hadn't done actual work for at least a century.

He'd seen all the records. He hadn't been lying when he'd spoken. Sinya had remarked at the sheer disorganized state of the city's affairs, and after Rathios muttered that he would deal with them in time, he'd felt an emanation of what could only have been approval from an all too familiar, and unnervingly powerful, mind. It seemed Vitiate had agreed with his plan as well, though apparently the Emperor was too busy for a chat. Seeing the amount of paperwork a single planet produced for but one councilor, he started to understand what leading an Empire must bring to Vitiate's lap daily. Even with the Dark Council, some things, one could only trust oneself to accomplish.

He held his breath as his own blade lightly sparked against the Mandalorian iron of his epaulets as Vowrawn touched it against both shoulders, eliciting another look of surprise from the councilor. "By the will of the Emperor…by the right of the Council…I give you command of Kaas City's resources to use and create the armada we will need to crush the Jedi and the Republic. You have claimed the right to govern over our Empire's newest capital planet, a right your father held before you. Rise…Darth Rathios."

* * *

The blade went out, and Rathios suppressed a grin. He had his foothold…now all he needed was patience. He pulled his saber from Vowrawn's hand into his own, and hooked it onto his belt. "I will not fail the council, my Lord." He bowed deep as the other Sith gave a nod of approval, and promptly left the domicile.

Exhaling hard, Rathios' grin manifested on his cold features as Sinya's arms appeared around his neck. "Why didn't you end him, master?" Her words were innocent, seductive, and genuinely curious against his ear, and for the first time since coming home, he allowed his emotions regarding exactly what he thought of her physical attributes to resurface, enough for her burgeoning talents to sense. Her excitement doubled, and she continued, "He could have fed your power immensely…you could've taken over the entire Dark Council…"

Rathios turned, still grinning, and amused at the swirl of emotions in his apprentice. Arousal, curiosity, unnerving fear at her master's grin, it was nice to be able to enjoy them again, somewhat. Each devoured rival had slowly filled the void left from Ilum, and thankfully, the trauma of that event had faded in the weeks that followed his public proclamation. Now that his position was secure, he could risk his ambitions being sensed, even by Vowrawn. "Vowrawn will be a useful tool to us later, apprentice. Besides, he wasn't _that_ powerful. Anything I could get from him, I've already taken from the fools who came to challenge me. I wouldn't want to face two of him alone in an alleyway though…"

She rolled her yellow-tinged eyes. "Or in the Dark Council chamber, I imagine...if they ever bring you there, they'll probably kill you, once they realize what they've invited into their midst."

* * *

He flexed his hand, sending her flying into one of the softer benches of the lounge, and attempted to make his grin slightly less disturbing. He held her against the couch as she struggled and squirmed against his hold. "First, I need a power base…I will build it here, and then I will have you help me to expand it."

She made a comment about expanding other things, which elicited a chuckle as he stood before her and rolled his wrist moving her lower body into a position of easier access, leaving her all but floating upside-down on the bench. "Then, I'll join the Council…and eventually control it. Not openly, of course…that will just paint a target on my head. Subtly."

"Shut up…" she hissed, grinning as the blood rushed to her lekku. He indulged her, once more cementing her loyalty, which took several hours longer than he presumed it would. Not that that was a bad thing. He rose silently through use of the Force once he felt her mind was truly asleep, and moved through his newly reclaimed abode, searching inch by inch for any caches of valuable artifacts or knowledge his father would've kept hidden. Every Sith Lord worth their Lightsaber had such holes in their homes, close to where they usually resided. Rathios planned to find and use them to his advantage, to take over his father's power base, and truly start his own.


	5. Chapter 5: The Games Sith Play

**Chapter 5: The Games Sith Play**

* * *

Starting a power base turned out to be easier said than done. Everyone and their third uncle wanted to lead a coalition of Imperial forces for one purpose or another. In those days however, it was almost exclusively the arena of Sith, vying for power, trading pawns, and generally enjoying the comforts that come from an Empire that is on the rise. Rathios cared for none of it. He tried going to a bar, at Sinya's suggestion and incessant nagging, and only succeeded in making the entire establish stare with a mixture of anger, fear, and silence until he ordered a single shot, and left. Cantinas were not for him. The music was obnoxious and loud, the heat was irritating, the smell…nauseating.

His apprentice dragged him to two more clubs, this time without the obvious garb of a Darth, and yet Rathios' opinion only lowered. He did not see the appeal of grinding on random strangers, and when he refused to do it to his apprentice, she took pleasure in irritating him by grinding on other men. Not that he cared, but when such things are done brazenly in front of a master, there are repercussions. After the fifth 'dance partner' his voluptuous Twi'lek had enticed into dancing mysteriously disappeared into a suddenly very ash-filled alley, she took the hint, and they left.

After that it seemed Sinya had finally realized that her master was genuinely bad at having her kind of fun, and his primary focus was, seemingly all time, expanding his power.

* * *

The surviving councilors had made every attempt to block him though, and for the moment, they were succeeding. Their pathetic attempts at stalling his rise gave him many a day-dream of throttling each of their overweight necks and piling their bodies onto spikes. Vowrawn had made it very clear however, that he was not to kill any more of the high ranking Sith so brazenly. The Holomail he had sent warned him that his position was precarious enough without a base of support, and that any more murder would probably lead to a Sith hunt, where the malleable and weaker lords would band together for a time to topple one who was far superior to them in power.

Though he loathed the idea of using assets his father had gathered, he had utterly failed in gaining followers from outside of his fallen father's network. He had been naïve to think that building a powerbase to rival the entire Sith Empire would be easy. He could have simply manipulated the minds of the potential recruits to his cause of course, but he wanted genuine followers. Sinya had to be the exception to the rule, not the norm. And that was how he ended up visiting the HQ of Imperial Intelligence.

As it turned out, most of his father's assets had already been…liquidated by rivals, or by way of accident, and Rathios immediately saw his flaw in his recruitment strategy as he looked around the crowded, busy building. He couldn't start with arrogant Sith with their own aspirations, he needed loyal Imperials, and luckily, he had just declared himself their new political leader. He began spending more and more time at the Imperial Intelligence HQ, learning their procedures, updating some that just seemed ridiculous, and eventually ordering a list of the changes his father had made them enforce. Most of them were nonsense, and only served to mire the Empire, and so Rathios ordered them gone. Over the course of a week he managed to concentrate Intelligence efforts on things that would actually matter, and left the elderly gentleman who seemed most competent in charge of them.

* * *

He knew that would stir the proverbial Killik's nest that was the Empire's upper echelon, but maybe then he could start taking other Sith apprentices from their masters, should they be foolish enough to face him. And face him they did. Mask adorned Sith, who grew stronger with every wave, would appear in his home, break his material possessions or steal them, or even try holding Sinya hostage, much to their regret.

They began showing up as each order by his father that only served to slow and mire the Imperial proceedings and logistics involved with building a fleet was eradicated. Vowrawn sent another letter, congratulating the Darth on his bold strategy, but warned that eventually one of those assassins would get lucky. Like most Sith, Rathios was sure of his power, and in his 'unique' case, its' unlimited strength. Unlike most Sith he had read about and meditated on, he had to make sure he did not fall into the same trap so many others had when they assumed they were invincible. They'd hold on to that ignorance until they ran into a truly monstrous power that humbled, and usually killed them.

It was not his strength in the Force or skills with a Lightsaber that caused the incident that would once again make it onto the HoloNet, though with nowhere near the same amount of fanfare and coverage. It was his naiveté that led him to assume he could handle any situation his adversaries threw at him with his current set of skills. After all, he'd had yet to meet a challenge he could not master…but as always, one eventually succeeded.

* * *

The rival Sith made no attempt at subtlety or destruction of his home, but rather announced himself by way of a black plated droid with a sassy attitude. He strode into the Darth's home complex with not the swaggering stance of a Sith about to die, but the assurance of a man who knew he was going to live, and make his enemies suffer. He was human, though his skin had a reddish tinge to it, black hair, and muscled to the point of absurdity.

He clearly had an affinity for mechanical apparatus as well. From his bland helmet, complete with T-visor, to the tubes of metal presumably pumping his 6,8 form with stims, he was a Juggernaut in the truest sense of the word. He towered over Rathios, but as he'd been polite so far, the young Darth returned the courtesy. "I am Lord Raze. You know my master, Darth Rathios, he sits on the council of Lords for Kaas City, beside you. He is however, my newest master. My first master was someone you knew quite well. Someone whose title was promised to _me_."

* * *

The snap-hiss of Rathios' blade echoed through his foyer. "And here I thought I'd reduced what remained of my father's entourage of yes-men to ash. Oh well…I _was_ starting to hunger…" Raze raised a giant, gauntleted metal hand. "Now now, Darth. None of that if you please. I'm here on business, not for a duel. No, the other Lords and myself all decided that deposing you by way of force wasn't working. You _are_ powerful, that we will grant you. Taking you down would require an army, but there simply isn't enough room in this…dwelling…for a proper army." His Lightsaber stayed lit, but Rathios decided to let him monologue.

Every once in a while, eloquent prey would come along, and it would truly be delightful to hear them make empty threats in a Kaasian tone that bespoke power and nobility. He had even used several of those monologues as inspiration for his own, should he one day decide the moment required one. "No, instead we decided to go after the one thing you actually care about. You'll notice that your apprentice is missing. We learned the last time we took her into the jungle that you didn't care for her safety at all. A noble character trait for a Darth, if I'm honest. But, we wondered, why then did you rescue her yourself, besides of course the fact that you have nobody competent to send to do it for you. Then, we considered your showmanship in the death of my former master, and ascendance to the rank of Darth, and it suddenly became clear…you care only about your image. You wish to style yourself after one of the old Sith, don't you? Did you think nobody would recognize the style of takeover? Did you think you were the only one to read the histories? I digress. We took your apprentice, and we discovered something _very_ interesting about her. She's a former Jedi! Impressive that someone like you was able to make her so devoted, Jedi are usually so hard to break…and then we realized, you hadn't broken her at all. You used Sith Alchemy on her. Bespelled her to be undyingly loyal, lusty, and obedient. I must say, I was personally disappointed at that…I don't know why, but I expected better."

Rathios slowly arched a tentacle brow at this. He'd been sure of his restructuring of her mind. The surety of Lord Raze's tone made her disillusionment very believable. Raze continued, "Once we undid that spell of yours, your little Lethan was _quite_ distraught. Oh yes. Raving about being defiled, unable to fight off her disgust, hating every moment of serving you…it was truly entertaining. Then, we thought, what would happen if this poor little Jedi Padawan ran all the way back to Republic Space with tales of being tortured and raped by a monstrously powerful Sith Lord for years? The Emperor himself would banish you for betraying our secrecy. Your humiliation would know no bounds. Unable to keep even a Padawan on a leash, and banished to Republic space with a pack of Jedi after you for your 'crimes'. We sent her on her way this morning. She's probably halfway down the Daragon Trail by no-"

* * *

_Finally…_ Rathios thought. He'd been waiting for the inevitable slip of information, and now, the other Sith's throat was cut off from taking in or expelling out the air his body needed to function. But Rathios was already taking the lift down to his hangar as Lord Raze slowly expired on his floor. He felt the other Sith's consciousness dim, and with one swift inhalation, drained his essence, taking it into himself as his eyes lit up the interior of the elevator, and his strength grew. Raze had been physically powerful, and now his power would become the Darth's. Vowrawn would have to understand that one could go only so long after being attacked, insulted, and blocked before resorting to murder again. He would deal with the consequences later.

He felt a sudden spike of fear as well, and grinned. The other members of the council no doubt felt Lord Raze's sudden death. Their fear was delicious, as it was the fear of those who rarely experienced it, and thus all the more enticing. He realized then that their safety had likely been assured. The fools hadn't realized that much like peace, the feeling of being safe was also a lie. An illusion. Especially in an Empire full of Sith.

Rathios licked his lips, staving off his hunger for the moment as he took off, and shot into hyperspace as soon as he left the stormy atmosphere of Dromund Kaas. He was headed towards Coruscant, speeding down the Daragon Trail at a speed that no sentient mind could truly comprehend when a message appeared on his Holo Terminal. He dropped out of Hyperspace, and floated aimlessly just outside a random solar system as he answered the call. "Sinya."

* * *

"Master." She replied, grinning. Rathios returned her grin. "When I'd heard they'd sent you down the Daragon Trail, I figured you'd need my help. Did they lock in the coordinates?" She nodded, a look of irritation crossing her face. "Yes. I managed to force the ship to make a pit-stop, but it wills tart again soon. You never said they'd actually do it so quickly…"

"I underestimated their aspirations." He replied, "I won't do it again. Shall I come get you?" She shook her head. "I can jump back once I reach the end of the trail. They've gathered their entire power base in Lord Crassus' abode. Record it for me, won't you? I want to _watch_ them die…"

Rathios responded by sending her his coordinates for a spot above Dromund Kaas that would serve as a good place to lie low for the moment. No doubt they were trying to sense him, and combined, he had a feeling that they would be able to. They would, at the very least, get a vision of how he planned to slaughter them…and he began imagining each of their fat faces draining away as he consumed their very essence. "I will wait for you, apprentice. We are a team. However, you _would_ be in Republic space…nothing I could do could stop you from returning to the Jedi and begging their forgiveness for falling. You have a choice to make, it seems."

She stared at him over the Holo. "Do you really care so little?"

* * *

He didn't have to read her mind to sense the pain in her voice. He'd wanted her to avoid falling in 'love' with him, but it seemed for the moment that he would have to accept that if he wanted to keep her. "What I did on Ilum to survive had many repercussions, apprentice. My outline in the Force is practically invisible. My power is more than I've ever experienced, but as most of my midichlorians are now gray in their nature…my emotions have dulled over time. Sure they can rise to passion or altruism, but they always return to the same state of…neutrality. I accepted that price. I will live longer than most others of my kind, and my skin will not be ravaged by the Dark Side's inherent corruption. Of course I care apprentice…you are my first. The first true lover I've had. The first of my loyal powerbase. The first to be trained by me, and truly excel in learning what I've taught, but your training is nowhere near done. As I said, you have a choice. Not because I do not _want_ you to return, but because I cannot force you to do so."

She remained silent for a moment, then sighed. "I'll be back soon."

"I'll be here, waiting." He replied, switching the Holoterminal off. He jumped back into hyperspace, and came out over Dromund Kaas once more. The fear he sensed below was…intoxicating. He knew it came from his opposing lords: Crassus, Laetus, Carnatus, and Arvina. He pictured their doom in greater detail, and the fear surged. They saw the future through the Force…good. Their fear would be delicious when he devoured them.

* * *

"We need to contact the Dark Council for reinforcement!"

"If we do that, they'll kill us themselves for being so weak and afraid of only one Sith! Besides, by law, we're the transgressors here. Attacking a Darth in his home? Even the Dark Council will agree we've earned this…"

"This Sith has eradicated everything we've sent at him without a trace! No bodies, no presence in the Force, they go into his abode and they vanish! This is not natural. The Council MUST be called!"

"ENOUGH! I will contact them myself and make it seem as though it is only me with these concerns. That way they don't kill us all."

Rathios grinned at Sinya from outside the hall, two piles of dust and a pair of blasters and matching uniforms were all that was left of the Kaasian council's guards. He had drained them as soon as they decided to shoot at him, despite knowing it would be futile. Their lives had been uneventful, but the information they overheard was something he'd need to re-evaluate after this. He breezed into the main room of Lord Crassus' dwelling, full of bickering Sith Lords with one busy at a Holoterminal, and spoke softly as the image of Darth Vowrawn and eleven other Sith that must have been the Dark Council appeared on the other end, stifling any words from them as well.

"It's too late, Lord Laetus. You're already _dead_ for what you've done to my favorite apprentice." Sinya watched from the door, hidden from sight and Force sense. She'd initially wanted to fight as well, but decided that watching Rathios devour their adversaries all at once would be far more entertaining. Though their reunion had been of the physical nature, after weeks of pent up frustration, there was seemingly no end to her lust.

"Hold a minute, Darth Rathios. You cannot kill them all, we _forbid_ it." One of the Dark Council members spoke now, "Kill them, and you will be exiled to the Core Worlds for treason."

* * *

Darth Vowrawn spoke as well, as three other Sith nodded in agreement with the previous speaker, "I agree with Darth Cruor, killing them would only weaken the Empire as a whole, Rathios. Stay your rage, and let us talk this through like civilized beings." Rathios only smirked.

He lowered his hood, and his nightmare-inducing gaze glared at the Council. "I have had enough of 'civilized' behavior, Darth Vowrawn…" He raised two hands as four Lightsabers blazed to life. "These worms have impeded my work, and attempted to restore my father's policies, policies you yourself told me the Empire was better for not having. Our people have jobs. Our fleet's construction is well underway, and I daresay that if our Emperor is unhappy with these events, he would've made his will known by now. I will _purge_ our capital of this…filth, and we will ascend to heights of power that even Marka Ragnos would envy!"

And with that, he inhaled hard, drawing the life essences of the four Lords into himself. His eyes blazed with dark power as he finished, he bowed to the holographic blue images of the Dark Council. Most looked amused, those who wore masks simply watched in silence, but Darth Cruor rose, his saber flying to his hand, despite the fact that he was parsecs away. "Fool!" he shouted, "They were _MY_ pawns! How dare you!? Insolent whelp! I'll-"

His words faltered, as Rathios glared at him, clawed hand still raised. He knew where Ziost was, and his power was surging with the strength of those he had just absorbed. He wanted more. "What are yo-"

* * *

He was cut off as Rathios spoke, "So…_you_, Darth Cruor, are the one behind stalling my efforts. You just admitted to helping mire our Empire in useless dithering. How...patriotic... You have perpetrated this farce at the expense of our Empire. **_Die_**." Two other Dark Council members flinched at his final word, but it was too late to stop him. He had reached out to Ziost from Dromund Kaas, the farthest he had ever stretched himself, when consuming a life. His perception changed, however, as he felt this new power. The Force connected everything, that he knew, but he had always assumed it was more of a philosophical connection. Spiritual. Not entirely there. But no, it was indeed able to be used as a bridge for those who understood, and had the power, to reach out to other sentients and affect them from a great distance. Distance was, to the Force, an illusion, after all.

And so, Darth Cruor perished. Everything he was, and had been, flooded into Rathios through the Force as his body shriveled, and fell into his crumpled robes and armor. The power was easily the most Rathios had ever taken at once, and he felt his strength increase once more. Some of his fellow Darth's memories and experiences were lost due to the distance, though. He began to understand the benefits of draining life from shorter distances. Still, he learned much from it, as he absorbed the power.

"I guess…that settles the matter. What do you intend now, Darth Rathios? Will you try to take his seat on this council?" Vowrawn asked, as the other Sith appeared to be leaving the speaking to him, for this.

* * *

Rathios raised his hood, form still sparking with darkness and hints of lightning. "No. I have a city to run, our new capital no less. I should think that the Council will not be favorable towards my ascendance, at this time... I will remain in charge of Kaas City, and its people will help me raise the Empire into what our Emperor desires it to be. However, I need more apprentices to do this. I am coming home to Ziost. I respectfully ask that you prepare the academies for my arrival. With _all_ of their students. Not just the 'best'."

The other councilors exchanged looks, and then focused on Vowrawn, who sighed. "Very well. Your request will be granted. Your power base will be in charge of operating around Dromund Kaas, and the assets of Darth Cruor will be given to you…once we take what we wish of course."

Rathios bowed again, power fading from his eyes. "Of course, my Lords. I wouldn't dream of taking spoils from the Dark Council." He smirked as he said this, from the comfort of an estate on their Empire's new capital.

"We will also be moving to Dromund Kaas, and establishing a chamber there, as well." Vowrawn continued, and the smirk left Rathios' face. "It is long past time for us to rejoin our Empire on our capital once more. Those who are loyal to the Emperor, have nothing to fear."

Rathios nodded again. "I shall build you a chamber worthy of the title and station you hold. The old chamber has fallen into…disrepair. I will contact you the moment it is completed."

* * *

The Dark Council disappeared, and Rathios turned to address his city, as he recorded another vid message that would be given out to the appropriate media sources. Sinya came into view by his side, grinning. "Citizens of Kaas City, and the Empire, once more I greet you. In the past few months, many of you have expressed fear or apprehension about joining yourselves to me, largely because you doubted my power, and my ability to handle the other Lords." Their shriveled faces floated into view then, at his whim. "As you can see…the former Lords of the city are no longer a threat, and my request for your obedience, is now an order. As of this moment, all Imperial assets not controlled by a specific member of the Dark Council belong to me. Ships, soldiers, civilians, all of it. I expect correspondence from each military and naval unit's superior officer, so that we may finally begin to prepare for our invasion of the Republic. If I receive none, I will find you in dereliction of duty, and have you executed before I find someone more capable of timely correspondence. I look forward to hearing from all of you."

Rathios hit the button once more, ending the transmission, and sighed heavily. Sinya's arms appeared around his waist. "How did it feel, devouring a Dark Council member?"

The pureblood smirked. "I feel as though I could reach out to Coruscant, and drain every Jedi of their power in one fell move…but that's the adrenaline talking. My limits have risen, but I still have limits." He turned to face her properly.

"Now what do we do, Master?"

"You have a Dark Council chamber to build, my dear." He replied, smirking. "Coordinate with the local industrial companies and Imperial forces. Kill anyone who refuses to obey, but don't get carried away. We need their loyalty. _Inspire_ them. Make the idea of working for you a pleasurable one. But keep it an idea. A goal to never be reached. I'll be heading to Ziost tomorrow."

She grinned up at him. "That means we still have tonight." He answered her with a kiss, and took far more enjoyment from using Crassus' bed than he should have.


End file.
